Kirk's War
by KaraStorm
Summary: Sequel to Colony War. Not a stand-alone. Spock is recalled to Vulcan by his father and must face his family, changed by events. The war with the colonies is winding down but there are still serious issues within Starfleet Command that Kirk is determined to sort out. COMPLETE
1. Return

"Those are your Militant robes you're wearing?" Kirk said. "Or are they just ordinary robes?"

Kirk was helping Spock put his few things together in the cabin. His help certainly wasn't necessary, but he felt the need to stand by as a kind of honor guard.

"They are somewhat associated with the Outliers."

Spock reached into the small drawer above the bunk and removed the medals, slipped them into his pocket.

"Then don't wear them. Take the white ones."

Spock hesitated. "I notice you have a particular affinity for them."

Kirk smiled, feeling caught red-handed. "I do, but they are the best thing for you to wear. The red uniform shirt is right out. Not sure which is worse, Militant or Starfleet." He went to the locker and held out the white robes.

Spock slipped the brown ones off over his head. He'd put on a little weight which had softened the corded look of his muscles and sinew. Kirk stepped up and put his hands on the warm bare skin of his ribs, slid them around his back, waited for Spock to drop the robes before pulling him close.

Kirk tried hard to memorize the sense of completion that flooded him. "Sending you off is the toughest thing I've had to do in a long, long time."

"I do not expect that the delay in our meeting again will be as lengthy last time."

"Don't strain relations with the Federation, please," Kirk said. He tugged on Spock's shoulder-length hair to accentuate the point.

"I won't."

Kirk didn't kiss him. He'd done that last time and the absence had been months with a lot of trials in between. He held Spock firmly two long breaths. Stepped back.

"You are about to start shivering," Kirk said apologetically. He picked the white robes up off the bunk and helped Spock into them.

The comm whistled. "A private Vulcan vessel has dropped out of warp, mark 30, Commander."

Kirk pressed the switch. "Proceed to docking maneuvers." He thumbed off the switch and swallowed hard. "I can't believe I'm doing this."

"You are doing it because you are self-sacrificing."

Kirk rubbed the back of his neck. "Am I?"

"Very much so."

The comm whistled. "Docking initiated."

Kirk held out an arm indicating the cabin door. "Let's go sacrifice ourselves in that case."

Riley joined them in the corridor, matching Kirk's pace as they went. An audible clunk reverberated through the ship as they approached the portal.

"I hate sending you back to your parents."

Kirk sighed loudly, asked Riley to leave them alone. Riley nodded soberly and departed.

Kirk said to Spock, "Can I give you some advice? Don't give in. But don't fight unnecessarily. Don't make excuses. Don't explain yourself unless you are in a bone fide debate where both sides have a chance. That's important." He took Spock's arm and squeezed it very hard, knowing he couldn't injure him. "You deserve to get everything you want. But you have to work through other beings. Not around them. Got it?"

"I shall try, James."

"You're too damn young." Kirk let go and stepped back

The docking portal opened and Sarek stood on the threshold in the decorative robes he wore the first time Kirk had first seen him. He apparently hadn't sent his servant this time.

"Ambassador," Kirk said.

Spock stepped across to the other ship, turned his body halfway back toward the Ranger's hatch. He stood with hands clasped loosely before him. He looked very Vulcan and years older in the low angled blue-white light.

Sarek nodded to Kirk, made as if to depart, straightened again. "Commander Kirk."

Kirk took this as acknowledgement of something, but of what, he wasn't certain.

"Take care, Spock. You too, Ambassador." The second was difficult to say but it came out with equanimity.

The ambassador nodded, turned. Spock fell into step behind him and the portal hissed closed.

\- 8888 -

Spock took the co-pilot's seat before Sten returned from duties below the main deck. They were only eleven hours and nine minutes from Vulcan at maximum warp. Sarek lowered himself into the pilot's seat and disengaged the interlock. Sten returned and had no choice but to hurriedly take a jump seat before warp engaged, which it did with the usual surge of the decks.

"The stabilizers could be redesigned to avoid the momentary aliasing in the control output," Spock said.

Sten said sharply, "The control is simple for a reason. It must always function."

Spock lifted his chin to be heard over his shoulder, "A secondary control could be attached via a servo, allowing for mechanical averaging which would only be effective during the period of aliasing."

Sten didn't reply.

Sarek said, "You have truly been doing engineering on a Starfleet vessel?"

Spock turned to him, kept his face expressionless. "Multiple vessels."

Many minutes passed. Sarek input their final course and sat back from the controls.

Sarek said, "What led you to the conclusion that you were qualified to do such important work?"

"I was deemed qualified by the Starfleet personnel in charge. Otherwise I would not have done the work. In the case of salvaging the defeated Outlier flagship, there was certainly no one to tell me to do otherwise."

Spock changed the monitor to display metadata about the star systems they were passing. He found himself more interested in the strategic implications of the planets close to the Federation core than previously.

Spock said, "Starfleet's mechanisms for learning are quite different from that on Vulcan. They let one attempt something one is unfamiliar with to see how one performs while someone observes. If that is successful, the tasks rapidly increase in difficulty. There is no bounding limit placed on this process. One can learn a great deal, very quickly."

"If one has the theoretical background upon which to base that practical application," Sarek said.

"Yes. That is helpful."

Sten snorted.

On the monitor the little marker for the Ranger slid out of view to the left. Spock took care to show no expression, but he felt a hollow opening up inside him.

"Perhaps you should meditate," Sarek said.

Apparently Spock had failed to remain expressionless. He pushed to his feet and passed Sten, who was quickly unhooking himself from the jumpseat. Sten was in the co-pilot's seat before Spock had climbed down out of the bridge.

Spock walked back to the row of three small guest cabins in the port aft quarter of the ship. He chose the cabin with a portal showing the stars beyond, closed the door behind him and lay down on the narrow bed in a meditative posture, with no intent to meditate.

He was there two hours, contemplating his situation, evaluating his emotions, when the door chimed and opened.

Spock sat up. In the doorway, Sarek said, "I would speak with you."

Spock followed to the plusher large quarters. His father closed the door and disabled the comm panel, presumably to keep Sten from listening in.

Sarek stood with his fingers interlocked before him, gaze inward. Spock knew what was coming, tried to imagine what James would do in his place. Cut him off. That's what he'd do.

Spock said, "I am well aware of what a disappointment I am."

Sarek didn't move. His expression remained exactly the same. He refused to offer a countermove.

Spock longed to be understood, for Sarek to appreciate the impossibility of Spock remaining put when he could take action that might make a difference. It wasn't Vulcan to do so. Perhaps it was impossible for Sarek to understand this. But James had told him to avoid explaining himself, so Spock did not attempt it. Wise advice. It was impossible, anyway.

Sarek finally spoke. "It goes beyond that, Spock."

Spock nodded. "I perhaps have outgrown the concept of mere disappointment."

"Making light of your situation is not going to assist your case." Sarek stepped to the wide portal at the foot of the bed and looked out. "There are calls to have you removed from our family."

"Calls by whom?"

"I will not engage in further gossip."

Spock resisted raising a brow. His father could see him in the portal's reflection.

"And your position on this proposal?" Spock asked.

This made Sarek turn. His gaze had grown sharp. "You have need to inquire?"

"This is a wholly unfamiliar situation. Assumptions are unwise."

"I am against it," Sarek said. "Since you have asked."

Spock bowed his head in a nod of acknowledgement.

"But my situation is precarious," Sarek said. "Since I have no control over you, I have no basis for using my influence in your favor."

"Where does T'Pau come down on this topic?"

"She will soon take a position on the Federation Council and her influence will be much reduced. Head of the family will fall to her cousin Surin, with whom you are not in favor."

Sarek raised his chin. "Do you wish to remain in this family, Spock?"

"Yes."

"You need to act as if you do. That means obeying."

Lacking James' advice, Spock would have launched into an explanation for why he could not in good conscience do this previously.

Instead, he said, "What do you command of me?" He tried to sound factual, but he heard defeat in his voice.

"For the short term, you will keep your mother company. You will undo the damage you have caused, both to her and to the broader family. You will do as I say."

Don't work around them, work through them.

Spock nodded.

"Are you acquiescing or pretending to?"

"I am acquiescing until such time as I have made good on the stipulations you just listed."

"And after that?"

"Am I an adult or am I not?"

Sarek dropped his hands, let them hang loose at his sides. "The humans have confused you as to your role. If you are in this family you are always beholden to it. You must chose to be in it or chose to be out of it."

Spock looked away. His gut was reacting with unease to this stark proposition. He was still Vulcan.

Sarek said, "We never treated you as special. I fail to see how you came to the determination that you were."

Spock felt his brow furrow and left it that way. "That is how you view this?"

"It is the only way to view it. You are either a part of Vulcan and this family and subject to the applicable standards of behavior or you believe in independent action, as you have been engaging in. Repeatedly."

Spock nearly insisted that he had no choice. But he didn't. He trusted James. His father was waiting for a reply.

"I see," Spock said.

"It is illogical to offer you another chance, but since you are my son, I am doing so anyway."

This was an unprecedented concession.

"I appreciate that, Father."

Spock wanted things both ways, but no one was going to bend to make that possible. And maybe James was right and Spock wasn't going to be offered a place at Starfleet Academy.

Spock put his hands into his robe pockets, felt the medals and the reaper token. He left them there. They had no place in this discussion. Perhaps not in any discussion. That was his father's real power, which was to decide what was relevant and what wasn't.

"If I might meditate, Father," Spock said.

Sarek gauged him. "You will refrain from touching this ship's systems during this voyage."

Spock straightened. "I had not intended to." Spock wanted to tell his father that he'd obey him from now on, unconditionally, just to get past the hard lump that had risen in his throat, the tightness constricting his breathing. But he couldn't do it and live with himself later.

At the doorway, Sarek said, "Perhaps in the future you will do me the favor of warning me before you intend to disobey me. It would help considerably to have some lead time to work with."


	2. Catching Up

Chapter 2 - Catching Up

At the estate, Amanda stood beside the gate to the parking area.

"Spock." Her voice was laden with emotion. She collected her control, shoulders relaxing. "We have your favorites. Come in and have something."

"I have been well fed, Mother." But the scent wafting out into the courtyard made him hungry despite his words.

She directed him to the tea table and he catered to her and sat down, remaining tranquil.

She stood with her hands clasped tightly. "I'm sure a lot has happened."

"True," Spock said. "But you should sit, Mother."

Sarek and Sten discussed procedures with the ship and the household's business. Spock was aware of his father's watchful gaze from across the room.

Amanda collected a few more small plates from the counter and found space at the edges of the table for them before sitting down. She clasped her hands before her and seemed to wait for something.

Spock couldn't resist eating the sweet paste on fried starchy root, a concoction of earth cooking techniques and Vulcan ingredients.

Sarek and Sten went to Sarek's office. The door thudded closed.

Amanda said, "Are you all right, Spock?"

Spock gave a curt nod.

"Is there anything you wish for?"

To be elsewhere wasn't something to say right then. "I apologize for causing you emotional pain."

"We have been very worried about you. More so than the last time you departed without warning. Which I did not think possible. When Sgroud found the contractor application from the Ranger it was quite a relief."

"We could not send a message right away. I am pleased you at least knew I was on the Ranger."

"I was pleased to hear it. Your father less so."

"Indeed? He messaged James Kirk specifically to fetch me. Why was he not pleased?"

"I am not certain. His stated reason was that you were hardly out of danger having changed ships in a war zone. To an inferior ship, no less."

She stood to pour herself tea as there wasn't room on the table for the teapot with all the food.

She cradled the steaming cup in her palm. "The picture from the Ranger was quite a surprise."

"The one of the bridge?"

"Yes."

"James staged that somewhat."

"Did he? It was attached to the Lexington's report, according to the media feeds."

Spock nodded. "I do not understand how he could know it would be further utilized. He says he guessed."

"It struck a nerve. James was clearly at his post injured and his uniform was so bloodied."

"As was mine. Fortunately, mine was already red. Otherwise the picture might have not carried the same meaning."

She looked him over. "Whose blood?"

"We were overwhelmed with injured after rescuing the prisoners on the Himalaya." Spock paused when the office door opened, but went on anyway. "I had read the crew manual on triage. I had read all of the ship's manuals. So while I was barely qualified, I was available, and that was sufficient as is often the case in these situations. There was a great deal of blood involved in trying to stabilize everyone before the medical team could provide more complete treatment."

"But you weren't hurt?"

"Not at that point."

Spock sensed that Sarek was standing in the center of the room behind him, unmoving. Spock turned with a questioning expression.

"I require that you see a Healer," Sarek said.

"Require?" Spock stood with slow movements. "You insist upon my presence here and now you attach requirements as well?"

"Yes."

Spock could imagine James telling him that it wasn't exactly an unreasonable request. "As you wish." He waited for his father to start to turn away before saying, "I reserve the right to refuse particular Healers."

Sarek tilted his head, spoke with a touch of condescension. "I will make a list."

"It is better that you see a Healer," Amanda said as Spock resumed his seat.

"Perhaps."

She held out another sweet paste on starch. He accepted it. The office door closed again.

"You are doing very well avoiding an argument with him."

"I am tired of fighting."

Her face grew sad. She stood to get more tea.

"It is untenable here for me, Mother. Personally."

"I know. All children do this. It's not like it's unique even though you are."

She blew on her tea which made Spock wonder why she'd made it too hot again before drinking what was in the cup.

The conversation veered to more remote topics. The family both on Vulcan and on earth. Amanda spoke of the strain her earth relatives expressed about the political situation they were caught in. She talked about this for many minutes, seemed to have lacked an understanding outlet until now for this emotional concern. Spock nodded. It was similar to the fine line James had been forced to walk with his crew.

Amanda fell silent again, met Spock's eyes. "He won't let you leave Vulcan," she said, voice low. "He's arranged a place for you at the Science Academy."

Spock felt a pressure on his chest that should not be there. "Even though they do not want me."

"He is rightfully forcing them to take you."

"I do not likely qualify."

"But that's not the reason they won't take you. Don't you want to help break down that barrier?"

"I don't care about that barrier." Spock found anger building in him, related to the strange pressure in his chest. He had survived so much only to be faced with these unnecessary choices.

The helpless anger eased. He wouldn't let it in again. He was here for his mother, a situation he was not displeased with.

"I will discuss it with him," Spock said with calm ease. "I do not think an agreement will be easy to achieve, but I will try."

"I do not think there is much room to negotiate. Q'Pan, the head of the Academy was here just four days ago."

Spock tried to imagine the old Vulcan's reaction upon being told he couldn't control his own student selection. "I somewhat regret not witnessing that."

"I thought you didn't care about that barrier?" She had a teasing tone.

"I was perhaps mistaken."

She made a strange wave of her hand and reached for a chocolate cookie. For the first time in his life, Spock recognized the movement. She'd almost touched him.

"I'm glad you are doing so well," Amanda said, holding the cookie and not eating it.

Spock took the cookie from her fingers, set it down, took her wrist and held it loosely at the edge of the table where there was space.

She stared at their joined limbs, then at him. "Spock?"

He couldn't quite shield his mind completely from her emotion. It reminded him of being very young.

"You were going to touch me. It is acceptable to do so."

Footsteps approached. Spock released her and picked up the misplaced cookie and ate it, even though he was not fond of chocolate.

"I have a list," Sarek said. He sounded impatient.

Spock raised his brows in surprise at the speed of arrangements and followed Sarek to his office. Sarek took a seat and turned the monitor to Spock. Two names on the list made Spock's body tense. They were two of many Healers he'd been taken to as a child. Healers who had not understood him and had tried to remake him into their vision of proper Vulcan thinking. Most of the names he didn't recognize, but despite the illogic of it, their association on the list made them no more agreeable.

"What about Healer Zienn?"

"He was of no use to you as a child."

"He was the only Healer of use to me as a child."

Spock and Sarek stared at one another. Spock said, "I should think I would be the one with the competence in judging this."

"You were a child. How could you judge?"

"It is Healer Zienn or I refuse to submit." Spock knew this would stand. No Healer would force themselves on an adult. A child was another matter.

Sarek sat back slowly. "You have changed greatly."

"I have not, in actuality."

Spock looked the list over again, resisted asking about any of the Healers' particular philosophies as it would be an opening to Sarek getting his way. Zienn had been kind, something Spock had rarely experienced from any Vulcan in a position of authority.

Spock said, "Where is Zienn now?"

Sarek queried the computer, held up a hand as if to say his point was won. Zienn lived at the South Kipraro High Temple, one of the most sheltered temples on Vulcan.

Sarek sounded conciliatory as he said, "He must have been skilled as he is now a Master Elevated Priest at the age of forty three. That is unprecedented. But Kipraro does not allow anyone lower than Third Level Priest Adept within their walls, an ordinary half Vulcan certainly would not be allowed. You will have to choose another."

Spock felt that intense childhood dread again. Felt trapped. James wouldn't give up. "Perhaps if you contact him."

Sarek's brows went up. "You believe it is that simple?"

"It is until it is proven otherwise."

Sarek stared at him.

Spock said, "Until you have completely eliminated Zienn as a possibility, I will not submit to another." Spock straightened, acted efficient. "Is that all, Father?"

"It is for now."

Spock bowed with just his head and returned to the tea table.

"You avoided an argument still," Amanda said.

Sarek had followed Spock out and taken a spot at the larger table with his padd.

Spock clasped his hands. His sense of calm wasn't as firm as before, but he was determined to regain it.

* * *

Spock spent the next two days with his mother. She insisted on a hair cut. And he accompanied her to the city despite Sarek's attempt to dissuade her from taking him along. Spock wondered that he thought Spock might run off, but the reason was that Spock attracted attention.

Vulcans stopped to watch them pass. Amanda continued on as if not noticing. But staring was so outside Vulcan etiquette it became unnerving to be the focus of it.

Spock's first Lyre instructor, an old female Vulcan, greeted them with clear surprise.

"You are home," T'Himm said. "That is unexpected."

"My father's doing," Spock said.

"Is it?" She said.

She had always been impatient with him. Perhaps she had been so with all her students. But it had almost made Spock give up the instrument as an object of personal disgust.

"He made it a condition of peace in the galaxy," Spock said.

T'Himm's face jumped to wrinkled excessive surprise before going stoic again.

"We have an appointment, T'Himm," Amanda said, and gave a Vulcan salutation.

"You are misbehaving, Spock," Amanda said when they were far distant from other ears.

"I did not like her lessons."

"That is an even poorer reason to misbehave."

Another group paused upon recognizing them right before they stepped into a fresh food shop.

Spock said, "For a city in the strictest region of Vulcan, there is an excessive amount of emotionally driven behavior today."

"That I will agree with," Amanda said.

As the transaction was completed, the slightly chubby shopkeeper said in Standard, "Your son is home, safe, I see."

"He is."

"Were the Outliers or Starfleet worse?" The shopkeeper asked Spock.

Spock thought to misbehave as he replied, but he made the mistake of considering the question on its merits and remembered too much all at once.

"Spock?" His mother's voice cut through the fog.

"Yes, Mother."

James had warned him of memories that would sneak up on him. He hadn't believed him.

"The Militants were worse. Starfleet is flawed, but not outrightly murderous. Most of the time."

After they were on the street again, Amanda said, "I don't think he expected an answer. And I am pleased Sarek is arranging a Healer for you."

"Perhaps it is for the best." The tightness in Spock's chest released and he breathed easier. There was apparently strength in admitting he had limits.

Amanda stopped by a shade tree on a quiet side street surrounded by high walls and put her things down. She wouldn't let Spock carry more than exactly half, reminding Spock starkly of James.

She approached him, put her hands on his arms for the first time in Spock's adult life. "I fear asking you how terrible your experience was."

"Then do not ask."

She closed her eyes and appeared pained. "It was bad?"

Spock breathed in the baked stone scent of Vulcan. "Yes."

"You seem to be doing very well."

"James." Spock stopped. His voice was going to reveal his emotions if he kept going. He found more control. "He has been through a great deal, over many years. He was helpful."

But there are things I couldn't bear to tell even him, Spock thought.

"The Healer will help as well."

"I expect."

She squeezed his arms. "I hope it was worth it."

"We have peace."

"We seem to. Yes. That is worth a great deal of sacrifice. I am just saddened that it had to be you."

Sarek greeted them at the door, which was unusual. He said to Spock, "Zienn has agreed to move to the Gwern Temple outside Shikahr specifically to see you. Did you know he would do this?"

"I did not attempt to compute the odds, but the chance was something greater than zero."

"He stated that he remembered you."

"I am pleased by that." Spock felt relief for a much younger version of himself.

In his room, Spock had a message from James waiting from the private relay Spock had given him access to. He found an earpiece and settled into a comfortable spot to listen to it.

"Hey, Spock," the message began. The breathy sound of it neutralized Spock's control. It was as if the microphone accentuated the subtleties in James' voice and beat them at the emotional center of Spock's brain.

"Not much to say, really. It's been a media circus from the moment we reported to command, but I've been behaving. Riley is really good at this PR game once he breaks through his shyness. He had to have some kind of key strength. Other than general eagerness. I've been trying to get more access to the top of the command line so I can assess them myself. What I've seen leaves me puzzled. I need to talk to you more about what vulnerabilities his victims might have. I'm thinking a photo of him might be useful. On hard copy, just in case."

There was a long pause where James' breathing was audible. It was as recognizable as his voice.

"It's only been a few days and I miss having you around. It's like losing a limb. I keep expecting you to be there and get surprised each time that you aren't. I shouldn't risk undermining you, but I needed to say that. You are steeped in full Vulcan again, I suspect. Rightly so."

There was another pause.

"Sorry, I'll stick to business. I need help setting up a non Starfleet connection to talk to Commodore Stone on Starbase 11. I feel pretty confident in him. If you can do that, I'd appreciate it. I hope you're taking care of yourself, getting some well deserved rest. Kirk out."


	3. Healer, Part 1

Chapter 3 - Healer, Part 1

Kirk sat at the terminal in his dormitory room and entered the transmitter ID Spock had given him. It was five minutes to the hour he'd arranged to speak with Commodore Stone. He was possibly being overly cautious in having his communication routed through the private network Spock had access to, but he couldn't be otherwise given the stakes.

As the connection code waited for the receiving terminal to engage, he felt strained anticipation. He dearly needed to speak to someone about what was happening, someone he could trust. Starfleet was his home and right now it was betraying him.

Stone's wide face came up on the screen. "Commander Kirk," he said.

"Commodore Stone. Thank you for taking the time to talk."

"I asked you to report to me, as I recall."

"Yes, you did. I don't have much to report, except like you said, cursory interactions with people in high command seem to be normal, almost joyful. And I've been to more than my share of handshaking opportunities lately."

Stone sounded hard nosed. "You deserve some handshakes, Kirk."

"Thank you, sir. Just doing what we could with what we had to work with." He sighed, felt the need to unburden himself. "I wish I could have come home to a Starfleet I trusted more than I do at the moment."

"We can't all have what we want all the time."

"Well, what I want next is to talk to Admiral Coyran."

"Be careful with that. He's poison at the moment and you could get tainted."

"I'm not worried about that."

"You should be. You want to use the powers of your fame for anything else, you have to guard it."

Kirk looked away, at the empty shelves of the dorm room. "I hate feeling like there is nothing I can do."

"You're just a lieutenant commander. What do you expect to do?" He sat back. "Things have been quiet the last week along the Klingon border. I might be able to arrange a visit to earth if this keeps up. Since we are airing our personal concerns, I'll say that I feel I've been derelict in not getting back to SF Command sooner. I didn't realize how quickly the war would be resolved. It felt endless. But thanks to you and your crew, it wasn't."

Kirk considered telling Stone his theory, then dismissed the idea. He might lose the man's trust given how wild it would sound without Spock's experiences to back it up.

Stone said, "Be careful, Kirk. You are in far over your head. I think you fail to appreciate how far."

"I have an inkling. The secret, sir, is to not care if you lose everything."

Stone raised a brow, blinked a few times. "I can see the strategic advantage there. Temporary though it may be. Anything else? Feeling better?"

"A little, sir. Thanks for listening. Oh, and, Commodore? Any Tellarites visit out your way?"

Stone put his bottom lip out and shook his head. "They don't risk coming this close the Klingon demilitarized zone. Why do you ask?"

"Just wondering, sir. Kirk out."

* * *

The midday glare shown over Shikahr as the aircar rose over the broad plateau and rotated to point at the hills bordering the valley to the north.

The temple was a minor one, half ruins, with a high set of steps from the valley floor. Spock prepared himself to make the climb, but his father parked the aircar at the top, on the plaza leading to the main gateway.

Spock looked at him in surprise, but his father gave no indication of his thoughts. Parking here was, at best, a rude gesture.

Inside, they were met by an acolyte who led them far inside, past an enclosed area where moss grew in the permanent shade of a cliff and toppled ruins. The waterfall that had inspired the creation of this temple was now merely rivulets emerging from the horizontal layers of rock at the base of the cliff.

They walked farther on into the narrowing high gorge to another building that was better maintained. Sarek fell behind and Spock turned to wait. His father had stopped and was looking out. Steam drifted out into the brightly illuminated valley leading away from the temple. It quickly dissolved into clear air. Mist was a rare phenomenon for Vulcan, but Spock suspected that wasn't why Sarek had stopped, given how driven he had been to bring Spock here.

Inside the second temple building, the acolyte asked Sarek to wait in an anteroom built into the cliff side. He then led Spock far inside to a sun warmed room with a meditation stone resting like a fallen monolith in the center of the floor.

Spock was peering out at the wisps of mist emerging from the shadows of the ruins when Zienn entered. He didn't look much older than Spock's memory of him. His hair was dark brown and combed sideways over a strong forehead. Spock realized he was getting the same evaluation, but likely a more contrasting one.

Zienn approached, glanced out over the landscape. His eyes were black but in the window light were scored with violet. He looked back at Spock, who waited to be addressed.

Zienn said, "May I access your thoughts?"

Spock clasped his hands before himself and bowed his head to the side to expose his right temple.

Zienn raise his hand and paused before touching him. And Spock was reminded of James. He'd been impressively serene the moment before. If he tried to suppress it quickly, he'd flounder. He simply accepted the exposure of it. He was half human. It should be acceptable.

Zienn probed past these surface thoughts and with efficiency touched upon conversations with Sarek, of Spock acceding to the intent of dragging him home again, partly to alleviate his mother's emotional strain, partly in interest of repairing the family.

Zienn withdrew. Without speaking, he led the way across a high ceilinged hall to an indirectly lit room. It was cooler here.

He gestured that Spock should sit on a stone bench placed to use a cracked meditation stone as a table. Juices and water were set out. Zienn sat across from Spock and poured out a mixture for each of them.

Spock silently wondered at an elevated high priest's willingness to do menial tasks.

Zienn said, "There are no acolytes at Kipraro to do menial tasks. This is by intention of the temple's founders."

"I see," Spock said. He drank half his juice and placed it before him, wondering if his hybrid nature were being catered to.

Zienn drank all of his and mixed himself another. "Kipraro is at a high altitude. It is much cooler there compared to here."

Spock wondered if he came up with another question, and didn't voice it, it too would be answered. He sipped the juice and wondered what his father had told Zienn.

Zienn said, "We are intentionally set apart from the rest of Vulcan. Closed off from the outside to focus on the inside of the mind and what that can open up if pure adept attention is poured into it. But even at the temple, we were aware there was a risk of war, that Vulcan had been attacked. Your father implied that you left home with the intent of stopping it. Twice."

"Yes."

"Strange. To imagine having the potential for such outward influence on the myriad interconnected events taking place amongst the multitudes of intelligent beings in the galaxy." He drank more juice. "You'll excuse my lack of Vulcan decorum. It doesn't get called upon often."

"I am not in a position to notice. I have been among Humans and Vulcan Militants."

"Militants. That is a difficult concept to accept."

"You did not probe far into my thoughts."

"I only wanted to assess your motivation. Then I wished to talk." His gaze went distant, his face not stone-like, but unmoving. Spock had a sense of steely control that required no conscious maintenance.

Zienn said, "Your father said you experienced difficult situations that he fears changed you. Do you feel changed?"

"No."

Zienn looked up, but not at him. "Tell me which thing causes you the most stress right this moment."

A great number of worries were in Spock's mind right then.

"My brother."

"You refer to Sybok. Just like the war, even as isolated as we are, we are familiar with him. Exiled seven years ago. Your father did not mention him."

"He doesn't know. I would prefer to tell him myself."

"Did your brother meld with you?"

"No. But he does not need to."

Zienn's unmoving face fell distant again.

"Excuse my ignorance. The Militants, what do they do?"

"They destroy. They kill."

"You saw this?" At Spock's nod, he asked, "Did you kill?"

"Only a soulless animal. I then had to consumed it as an initiation."

"That stresses you?"

"Not in the least, which does stress me. We pride ourselves on how inherently logical and peaceful we are, but removed from that society into a distorted one, much of what is a given falls away. It is situational and far from concrete."

Spock gripped his juice glass. "I am unchanged except for realizing how very little I know myself. That may be the answer I should have given you before."

Zienn took the glass and filled it with the same mixture again. "You will need the energy for the meld. It will be long."

Spock drank half his juice.

"Something else disquiets you," Zienn said.

"I miss the presence of the human I befriended and worry that he is in danger."

"Did you befriend any of the Militants?"

"No. They are asocial. It is the thing that both binds them and simultaneously makes it difficult for them to work as a cohesive unit. I tried to sow more discord when possible. As Sybok's preferred pet, I was protected from suspicion."

Zienn downed the rest of his second juice. "You could not have chosen a Healer more removed from your experiences."

"That was not among my criteria. You are the only one I remember as not harming me."

Zienn was staring at the table now. "That is a logical criterion, if one must choose only one." He looked down at Spock's juice glass which was still half full.

Spock sipped from it.

"Your father disapproves of your actions."

"I have rarely had his approval."

"Does that make it a non issue?"

"No. But it does pale compared to the other issues. I have learned in the last few days that it is indeed my own weakness of will and dearth of understanding of the role of authority that makes us incompatible. I am stronger than when I left, and things have improved greatly."

"When I spoke with him briefly just now, he was quite concerned," Zienn said.

"I assume he worries I am dangerous to others."

Zienn looked up at Spock. "That is the primary motive you attribute to him?"

"Do you think it is mistaken?"

"Yes."

Spock bowed his head. "I will reassess in that case."

There was a long silence.

Spock nodded to the glass he held in both hands. "Are you waiting for me to finish this as a signal that I am ready?"

"I had not intended it for that originally, but I decided three minutes ago that it would suffice as a signal. So, yes."

Spock considered the meld to come. How completely it would deprive him of his own will and identity. How it would likely prick and tear at old scars causing him pain he could not defend against.

He stared at the juice.

The meld would also be a great strain on Zienn, who was more than willing to undergo it.

Spock finished the juice.

In the larger chamber, sunlight came through the small arched windows in long beams. Spock lay back on the meditation stone. Zienn steepled his fingers for a handful of seconds, then sat on the stone beside him.

"I want you to enter the first stage of meditation. Only the first." He tugged Spock's robe sleeve up with a casual jerk on it, exposing his forearm.

Spock stared at the hewn ceiling lost beyond the beams of sunlight even for his sensitive eyes.

The first stage of meditation came easily. Spock tried to move automatically to the second, and had to hold himself from it. As the minutes passed it required more and more effort to maintain a simple first stage rather than release it or transition on.

Zienn's hand wrapped around Spock's wrist. Spock remained limp as his arm was lifted, encompassed tightly. Fingers came in contact with his temple, adjusted, and the meditation stone seemed to sink away beneath him, leaving him lost in the brown dimness of the obscured ceiling overhead.

Spock was someone else. He wanted to struggle for the self he knew, but against a base instinct for preservation, surrendered instead. It made his eyes water to do so.

An easy emotional control beyond imagination settled on his mind. He marveled at it, then knew it naturally as his own as his identity continued to lose distinction.

He needed to breathe more frequently in the thin air. In and out. He knew the meditative secrets of the ancients. He had absolute control of every last feeling and thought. The universe was a concept. He was a concept. The two need not intersect.

But the Militants. Spock/Zienn remembered them, remembered the worst of them. The agony of standing by while others were killed. The radiating madness of a fight to the death between unshielded minds. Backward through memory. To Sybok's strange influence that didn't require touch, to his genius madness and depravity. Spock/Zienn remembered all of it, one thing at a time, no matter how miserable. The effortless control made the memories lose all ability to re-wound.

Breathe in. And out. The world felt lighter when he breathed more. He wasn't adapted and breathing more was necessary.

The slanting light was dimmer now, angled away.

Backwards the memories turned. Spock/Zienn had believed at the time that outwitting and escaping the disabled ship over Wolfram Thesus V had been stressful, but in retrospect, an incident to be proud of and rather minor. And the human stranger, James Kirk. Like a high priest of death. Commanding but kind. And vulnerable. An unexpectedly workable combination, subject to moments of weakness that so resembled Spock/Zienn's mother as to be shocking, dredging up old helplessness. Reverting to habits long forgotten. Sit close. Be attentive. And the smile that resulted. Like the human understood, but that was highly improbable.

Spock/Zienn didn't want to think about more intimate moments. But there was no reason for concern, they would logically be left alone. The memories wound on. To the strain of school, of the emotionless face put over the constantly falling short. The displeasure. He would not fall short in his emotionless face, ever, otherwise he would fall short in all things and would be no one.

Backwards. But he didn't want to think about that time. Spock/Zienn breathed too rapidly now. Calm. Slow. Peacefulness. There was nothing worthy of fear anywhere in the vicinity. He was an adult now. It was far in the past. Just a window on the past. Not the past itself.

The pain would ease. There wouldn't be a bundle of pain and fear feasting on control. Just peace.

But he didn't want to remember. Even if it would be better afterwards. Remembering was the same as repeating it.

There was nothing to fear. Spock/Zienn's breathing slowed to normal again despite the overwhelming pressure of helplessness and betrayal. The certainty that no one would believe him and he must suffer, helplessly. Each embattled meld, both from Sybok and from Healers, contact with a mind so large and strong and overpowering. All consuming. Having its way.

Spock/Zienn twitched in a futile attempt at escape. He did not want this. He would not give in this time. Not after so many other times. He had his own will. But he was also tired now, and tired also in the memory, defeated. He felt himself drifting away from the sense of effortless emotional control, the oneness with the fabric of the universe. He drifted from the vision of himself beyond imagining. He didn't want to lose that, but it slipped free anyway.

Then came the sweet memory of Zienn's own touch. Concerned. Achingly concerned for this strange little boy who was not Vulcan but must be. Who was so misunderstood.

The meld had partly dissipated. Spock sensed himself, the pit of memories, and Zienn's steely composure as three distinct things. He was being given a choice. Revisiting the memories threatened to remove years of carefully built control that made him who he was. But it wouldn't truly remove that control, he was assured, the control was forever, the pain was curable. It would be better after. He could never have true strength if he was always betrayed by the very core of himself. If he wanted that feeling of effortless control, removing the wounds was the first logical step.

Spock remembered giving into James even though he feared what would be revealed from deep within himself. He remembered that ultimate expression of intimate trust, of abandoning himself to know something more about his own core.

Spock gave in again. The hard surface of the meditation stone pressing into his shoulder blades, into his heels, faded again. The very air around him faded.

Spock/Zienn felt himself opened up, turned inside out. The painful memories of childhood poured forth, renewed and fresh because the wounds were just as they had been, or worse, were scarred many times over, extending the damage like broken insect legs through his spirit. Disciplines came down over his mind, deep inward meditation that knew no fatigue, knew no pain or uncertainty. Large and undeniable, yet unharming. Fascinatingly rigid control that came from deep within, not imposed by peripheral rote disciplines. The old wounds were examined, dissected, smoothed over, examined again. Thought patterns were unchained that had been beaten down, rerouted, and damaged nine Vulcan years ago.

Breathe in. And out. The sun no longer entered through the sidelights of the room. The air was still, cooling slowly.

Again deep examination, a soothing touch healing the scarring, freeing old paths. This force of will changing him wasn't like the others. It was of him, a version of him with a mind unlike anything he could have dreamed possible.

Then it faded. The control lessened. Exhaustion overtook his limbs. His identity became overlapped with another rather than an extension of it. He didn't feel alone despite abandonment. He blinked, rocked his head to the side. The hard stone had worn a sore spot in the back of his head.

Spock was himself again. He couldn't have lifted himself up if all of Vulcan depended on it.

Zienn seemed far less affected. "I want you to work your way to stage five meditation and hold it until I return."

Spock nodded. He couldn't feel his arms. He was barely aware of Zienn departing. The room was unnaturally quiet. His heart and blood rushing sounded painfully loud.

Spock found stage one meditation with some effort and, with relief, let it become stage two as it wished to. In this stage he could still bear the distraction of marveling at Zienn's masterful self control. He considered it for a few minutes, then focussed forward and moved to stage three, which required an unusual effort to attain. Exhaustion made stage three-one stretch far ahead of him, but he was determined.


	4. Healer, Part 2

Chapter 4 - Healer, Part 2

Spock felt a touch on his arm and came awake reluctantly.

Zienn was there beside the meditation stone. Light came in through a chink in the stone at the end of the room at the peak of the arched ceiling. The sun had traversed the sky and was now setting.

Spock said, "I beg forgiveness. I always fall asleep at stage four-four. It has always been the case."

"You obtained to stage four?"

Spock wanted to sit up but thought he should wait to be told. "Yes."

"You may sit up if you wish."

Spock did so, rubbed his face even though he knew only humans did that to simulate their minds to function after resting.

Zienn said, "I did not expect you to manage stage three. I am pleased you made it to four."

"Why did you command me to obtain stage five?"

"Because I wanted you to give the task due effort."

"I would have done so anyway."

"You are not like others in that case."

Spock resisted rubbing his face again. This odd conversation was making him wonder if he was truly awake.

Zienn said, "I spoke to your father. I did not mention your brother, as you wished me not to. I did inform him that you did not require any healing from your recent experiences, even as stressful as they were. But that you required extensive help on the damage caused by Healers I informed him at the time were harmful to you."

Spock really hoped he was awake.

Zienn said, "You are still quite fatigued."

"I need sleep to recover. It is a human weakness."

"It is merely a human attribute. And a Vulcan one, too, only less prominently so. You have a strong mind for a half-Vulcan. Possibly due to having to fend off Healers far stronger than yourself. Nevertheless, you should not have been subjected to it." He stepped back. "If you can walk, there is more juice."

Spock followed on wavering legs that complained about the unexpectedly high gravity.

He was given a full strength concoction of everything available.

"Drink."

Zienn didn't have any. He sat back against the cracked meditation stone and looked up at the ceiling, displaying fully his lack of decorum. Spock wondered what his father was thinking just then about the long delay.

Zienn said, "I continue to be fascinated by your insistence that you can impact events far larger than yourself. Involving humans, no less."

"One cannot know what one can do without trying."

"That sounds like something human children would be taught, disappointing most of them."

Zienn crossed his arms and looked at the ceiling again. "I came to a different temple to avoid encountering even a single member of ordinary Vulcan society. Yet you walked willingly onto black-market stations full of the most violent and depraved of the galaxy. You left yourself at the mercy of the Outliers, Vulcans who should be Romulans. I am cowardly in comparison."

Spock held his glass partway to his mouth. "You are not."

Zienn looked sideways at him. "Under what logic do you form that conclusion?"

Spock realized he'd spoken from emotion. "Firstly, there is no logical reason for a comparison to be initiated. Secondly, you were willing to perform a meld on me, not knowing what you may encounter. You exerted a great deal of personal energy and sacrificed your privacy for me. I do not see where the comparison falls short, even if one forces one upon vastly different measures."

Spock wondered why this was upsetting him. He gathered his tired control. "Advanced society works because we specialize."

"Yes. I know that. And you specialize in?"

"Tormenting my parents, I believe."

Zienn's brow went up, the first time Spock had seen that.

Spock drank the rest of the juice even though it soured his stomach it was so concentrated.

Spock said, "I have a great deal to do. I need to find my brother. Make certain he is not manipulating any major Federation leaders as James worries he may be."

Zienn sat up and turned to face Spock. "You are willing to face Sybok again?"

"Yes."

"I would not do so, and I am far more equipped for it."

"I have no choice."

Zienn stood up. Stood straighter while looking Spock over. "I should take you to your father."

"He waited here at the temple?"

"Yes."

Spock stood up, found his legs doing better.

At the door to the long hall, which was now dark, Zienn stopped. "Spock, if you have need of me, which I fear you may after encountering your brother again, you may call upon me. I will find the bravery to leave the safety of the temple and this planet. It is the least I can do."

"You owe me nothing," Spock said. "I do not know where this mistaken belief originates from."

Zienn stood still. "I do not get spoken to this way. Ever."

Spock bowed his head. "I beg forgiveness."

"I was not asking for forgiveness. I am simply fascinated. I beg forgiveness for forcing you to do so. Come. As differently interesting as conversation with you is, your father is undoubtedly impatient."

Spock kept his head down as they entered the outer foyer. The red light of late sunset colored the floor. He stood and waited to be addressed. As pleased as he was to know that Zienn had chastised Sarek for past injuries, he now felt embarrassed by the shame it must have caused his father. He heard Sarek rise.

Zienn said, "Spock has need of rest. Let him do so in whatever way he wishes and for as long as he wishes. He will be quite recovered after that."

Sarek said, "My family and clan are immeasurably grateful to you High Priest Zienn."

"Yes. I'm sure. If you have need of me again, call upon me. No matter where."

After formal leave-taking, Spock followed Sarek out through the temple to the aircar, head bowed.

The aircar rose in a sweeping turn, and continued to rise rather than descend over the plateau to home. Spock raised his head. The aircar banked again and slowed to settle onto a high cliff ledge overlooking the broad valley. The fire-red limned mountains cast long shadows over the valley. The city appeared small, perched on the plateau, entirely shadowed by the hills. Pinpricks of light glowed from the buildings and gardens. The wind buffeted the aircar on its narrow perch.

Sarek took his hands off the controls. "What is it you wish for, Spock?"

Spock considered the question and carefully said, "I apologize, Father. I require more context to answer."

"Do you wish to join Starfleet?"

Spock's heart jumped like he'd been kicked. "Yes."

"Do you believe they will have you?"

"I believe there is a chance greater than zero." He dropped his gaze to his interlocked hands. "I have already applied."

Sarek steepled his fingers in his lap in what Spock suspected was a false display of serenity.

"Do you wish me to secure you a place at Starfleet Academy?"

Spock had to draw in a breath with effort. He was reacting negatively to Sarek's interference as much as he was touched by the offer.

"No. But given your diplomatic insistence that I be returned to Vulcan, perhaps you could have correspondence attached to my application stating you have no objections. Otherwise I expect it will be rejected for political reasons barring any other merit."

Sarek turned to him. "You applied for the accelerated program?"

Spock longed to prop his head up with his hand. He forced himself to remain upright without doing so. "Yes, but James believes I should attend the full program. He insists I require enculturation, even if the technical training is relatively easy for me."

"James is a wise human. Perhaps he can tell us how to inform your mother."

Spock raised a brow. "I will inform her, if you prefer."

"Perhaps that would be best."

Spock's head nodded as fatigue overtook him. He pulled his head straight again. This conversation was important. He now accepted playing a role to authority if there was a chance of being understood, of honest debate and feedback. Perhaps he had changed in some fundamental way.

"You require rest," Sarek said.

"It is no matter. If you have addition need of discussion." He gave in and lifted his arm to hold his head up.

Sarek put his hand on the controls and the aircar lifted.

Spock woke as the aircar landed, having no memory of falling asleep.

"I will get a servant to assist you."

"It is unnecessary." Spock pushed the door release and stepped out.

The courtyard was in darkness. Pathlights led past shaggy vines to the warm glow of the house. A figure moved in front of the light.

Spock waited to let his father lead, but Sarek gestured for him to go first. His mother stood in the doorway to the main house, worry in every line of her.

Amanda's voice came out of the darkness. "You were a very long time."

Spock wondered at this. Sarek had sat a vigil rather than keep her updated from the aircar's communications unit.

Sarek said, "Spock is in need of rest. He is otherwise well. Go, inside, Spock."

Spock started. He had stopped, awaiting something to motivate him.

The familiarity of his room enveloped him. He was vaguely aware that he'd been followed and didn't acknowledge whoever was in the doorway as he uncaringly curled up to sleep in his robes.

Spock woke seven hours and three minutes later, pleased his time sense had not failed.

There was no one about in the main rooms. He found a snack of sweet paste on fried starch left out, clearly for him. He took them to the courtyard off the dining area along with a padd and watched the feeds on mute.

Spock exhausted the official news feeds and pulled up the general earth news for the area around Starfleet Headquarters. There was a snippet of video attached to a feed titled Hero Commander on the Town with Dame Commander. It showed James Kirk coming out of a restaurant arm and arm with Commander Graham. Graham wore a wry smile of annoyance, but Kirk looked pleased to be caught on video.

The sound of footsteps in the corridor made Spock close out that feed and return to the official one. He scrolled without reading for meaning, wondering what he should feel. Strange, feelings were usually automatic, but right then it felt that he could steer them.

Amanda spoke with a great deal of affection. "Spock."

"Mother."

"You found the treats. Good."

"Yes. Thank you."

She sat down on the bench set at a right angle to his own. She overly composed herself. "Your father tells me the Healer believes that you are recovered sufficiently from your recent experiences. I am pleasantly surprised to hear that."

Spock had no desire to inform her of what damage the Healer had repaired. He remembered pleading with both of them as a child and knew it would only bring pain to remind her of that. And it had not been her choice.

Spock said, "My experiences are more easily put into proper perspective now, thanks to Healer Zienn. But I need to speak to you, Mother."

Her shoulders pushed back and her face grew perfectly composed. The gossamer hood she wore was lit from behind by the sun.

"The world of Shikahr is too small for me, Mother."

"I know. But your father seems firm."

"He is allowing me to join Starfleet."

She tilted her head. "He is?"

"He offered to secure me a place, which is interference I do not want, but is indicative of his change in thinking."

"That is a significant change in thinking." She seemed to not entirely believe him.

"I believe Healer Zienn spoke to Father in a less than gentle manner about certain past decisions. And Father is feeling he needs to make up for those things."

Her eyes studied him, dancing back and forth between his own. "That would also be significant."

"His primary concern was informing you."

"Sarek's was?" She rocked back on the bench. "I am pleased that you will go. In peaceful times, it seems the optimal place for you. I assume you are certain this is the right path for you?"

"Yes. In Starfleet I am allowed to grow. On Vulcan I cannot."

She smiled faintly. "Sarek's agreement is surprising but this realization is not. You tried to make it work, Spock. I want you to find your place, although I do wish we could keep you longer. I am not disappointed in you."

"Father, I believe, is."

"He will see differently once he sees you excel." She raised a finger into the air. "It may be decades. But he will see it."

Spock looked away, at the garden, at the old ivy, the carefully cultivated black soil, the thick stems of the flowering thorns. Everything in the garden spoke of time and patience. He wondered why he'd never noticed it before. Perhaps he had adopted a human view of time and now saw his old life through that lens.

His mother's voice broke into his thoughts. "Can you be patient with him, Spock?"

Spock relished his new peace. He felt he could do anything, face anything. "Yes, Mother. I think I can."

"Your father will be proud of you for that far sooner, if that is any consolation."


	5. Date, Part 1

Chapter 5 - Date, Part 1

It was very early morning in Half Moon Bay. Too early for the press that might still be sitting vigil, hoping for a scoop. The road bordered a broad grassland leading across to the ocean. Mist swept over the grass, blocking out all else, making it feel like the end of the earth. Despite the expense, Kirk told the aircar to wait.

It had taken half a week to set up this meeting. No one officially wanted him to speak to Admiral Coyran. In the end, Kirk had arranged things the easy way and that was to charm the secretary in the Judge's office overseeing Coyran's house arrest. Kirk might have implied that he needed a chance to vent at the man after all he and his crew had been through fighting in space, when that was the farthest thing from Kirk's mind.

The redshirts let him in without a word, opening the door and stepping out to flank it as Kirk approached up the walkway. Farther inside, Coyran stood in the gloomy light in a housecoat.

"Kirk."

"Sir."

"Come in here. Have some coffee."

Kirk followed into a den with a view over the misted grass. Coyran turned on a light. It changed the murky blue to orange. Coyran tossed his housecoat tails behind him before taking a seat. He let Kirk pour his own coffee from a silver pot.

"So, what can I do for you, Commander?" He snorted. "Not that I can do much of anything for anyone."

"You can do a lot for me, actually, sir. Are you being monitored?"

Coyran shook his head. "Hell if I know." He sat back and sipped his coffee. "You've been the toast of the town. I don't get to communicate outbound, but I can read anything I want." He reheated his cup and took a noisy sip across the top of the steaming cup. "Enjoying yourself?"

"I'm enjoying the food."

"Graham seems to be enjoying herself too."

The room was silent. The wind buffeted the bay windows making the mist appear to writhe against the glass before another gust cleared the view again.

Kirk's coffee cup was warming his hands nicely, sending off the bone chill from the fog. "I confess I want to believe you were brought down by planted evidence."

"You know what the evidence is?"

Kirk scratched his ear. "No, actually I don't. I'm just extrapolating from what I would have done in the enemy's place."

"I'm accused of issuing orders that I didn't issue."

"Ever see any Tellarites around Command that you didn't expect to see?"

Coyran's face wrinkled up in confusion. "Tellarites? I don't know. What an odd question."

"Think back."

"What do they have to do with this?"

"It's just a working theory. Did you release the virus again from your lab?"

"Great Bird, no." He stared at Kirk now. Put his coffee down and appeared insulted.

"A new version was loose. Got on my ship despite having reprogrammed a lot of interfaces. It was professionally altered, including tracking, the kind of tracking someone would add so they could analyze and optimize it. Very doubtful that it was the Colonist's work."

Coyran pinched his bottom lip with his fingers. "It certainly wouldn't be hard to sneak a copy out of there. It's not a lot of data." He stared at Kirk. "You really write that?"

Kirk smiled. Spoke softly. "No."

Coyran poured from the silver pot again. "Makes me feel better to hear that. People shouldn't be allowed to be very good at more than one thing." He put the pot down and looked at his cup, again filled to the brim. "That Vulcan you seem to keep around . . ."

"Easy guess."

"It is. We could use a few more of him around."

"He'd like to be around. He's applied to the Academy."

"Well," Coyran said with some emotion. "I'm glad to hear that. That will piss a few people off."

Kirk drank his coffee for a while before asking again. "Tellarites. Seen any?"

Coyran laughed. "For the record, I'm laughing at you, Kirk. You sound like you believe you can sort this out."

Kirk smiled faintly. "When I was given the Ranger, was I set up to fail?"

Coyran sobered. "Do you feel like you were?"

"Thought crossed my mind a few times. I wouldn't mind if it were true."

Coyran nodded. "Given how you did, that would make it sweeter." He straightened his shoulders. "That ship was languishing. It got the first reasonably qualified commander to come along. But as to the Tellarites, I think you are barking up the wrong landing strut. They are too busy being offended and too busy shipping substandard goods and then being offended all over again for being called on it to make serious trouble."

"Still."

Coyran sounded tired. "How long ago are you asking about?"

"Last year or two. For starters."

Coyran rubbed his tall forehead. "We see just about everyone in that kind of timeline. There were delegations from Tellar, of course. Multiple ones since they are disorganized at the best of times and can't settle on picking a representative. We're supposed to make it look like they have a chance of earning procurement contracts, even though they rarely are the best bidder. But since procurement isn't my job, or the job of anyone in our building, they'd only be coming through on courtesy tours. But they've come through."

"Who'd they spend the most time with?"

"Usually assigned to someone's underling. Let me think." He rubbed his head. "Ducal, Admiral Howard's assistant was assigned to babysit them most times as I remember."

"He still around?"

"Yes. He's Pritchard's assistant now."

Kirk looked out the window which was now bringing in enough light to compete with the room lamp. It made sense. Sybok was an egotistical maniac. He wouldn't settle for just any Admiral. He'd go straight for the top, the Rear Admiral.

"Pritchard get investigated?" Kirk asked.

"Everyone did. Psych scans, office audits, the works. Everyone was clean enough. These things always turn up some questionable things, personal billings to office accounts, affairs, meaningless drivel that nonetheless has to be checked. The computer systems issuing orders were found to lack sufficient auditability. They are being modified."

"Who ran the investigation?"

"Advocate's office out of Singapore." He finished off his cup of coffee and sat back, arms folded around his chest. "You really believe you can sort this mess out, Kirk. Lowly Lieutenant Commander that you are."

"I won't know until I fail at it, sir."

"Won't take long. People who don't keep their head down when there's this kind of trouble, when the brass need to prove they are doing something, tend to get knocked down. Hard. You aren't going to get any help."

Kirk swigged his fast cooling coffee. "I got help from you."

"I don't have anything to lose."

"You can't be the only one." Kirk stood up, pushed his coffee cup into the center of the table.

Coyran remained where he was. "Do I get to hear your theory?"

Kirk smiled. "No. Because it's crazy." Kirk bowed his head. "It's possible, sir, that in this kind of situation I am too shaped by Tarsus IV."

"Well, when you see first hand what one man can do. I expect that sticks with you."

Kirk pulled his body to a posture closer to attention. Held it a respectful few seconds. "I appreciate your time, sir."

Coyran heaved his tall frame up out of the low chair. "No. I appreciate the visit. Brightens the day, which needs it. By the way, how did you get approval to come?"

Kirk grinned and waggled his eyebrows. "I'm taking Judge Mandel's secretary to dinner tonight."

Coyran shook his head. "Don't get chewed up too fast, Kirk. This is the kind of thing that can take you down to the bottom rung in one fell swoop. You prepared to fall that far?"

"Wouldn't be the first time. And I prefer to accept what the ultimate cost might be going in so the fear of it doesn't distract me. So I thank you for reminding me."

* * *

Spock rose from meditation and walked through the quiet house to join his mother in the garden. It was a rare day of hazy sunlight and the garden temperature was perfect. He took his padd out and, lacking a new message from James, watched the feeds. James was again in them, this time with a heavily surgically modified earth woman on his arm. The two of them were leaving an underwater restaurant at the base of the Golden Gate Bridge. The article's first paragraph insinuated that Kirk either had a falling out with Commander Graham or was simply a dilettante and his dates were aware of this and complicit in this behavior.

Spock closed the article. There were other headlines about the date, most with photos attached. Spock felt strange, as if the air pressure had dropped. It was occurring to him, slowly, that during their many discussions, Kirk had made no mention of exclusivity. And Spock had no cultural basis for knowing if he should expect it. These were both things he had assumed by default, but there was no logical reason for those assumptions. And messaging Kirk to ask seemed fraught with potential unwanted side effects, the biggest of which was distracting Kirk with Spock's emotions, which was unacceptable.

"Mother, may I have your advice?"

Amanda looked up from the book she held. She put the book down closed in her lap, placed her hand over it.

She sounded heartfelt. "If you think I can assist you, Spock, then please ask."

To get advice, Spock would have to explain. He could hear that they were still alone in the house. His father was on a errand and had taken Sten with him.

"I hope you can assist. I cannot see a solution at this time. Perhaps there isn't one."

He had gone quiet and she said, "I assume it is an issue concerning interactions with humans."

"Yes." He breathed in and out. This was the most uncertain he had felt since Zienn's healing. He was somewhat relieved to be distressed as he suspected that his deeply buried difficulties had been the source of his previous motivation to take action. Certainly he had lost some of his motivation since then. A free and easy sense of peace was not conducive to making plans and taking risks.

Spock looked down at the handful of fallen leaves on the paving stones, leaves that had dried so rapidly their color had been preserved.

"During my time with James Kirk we became quite close. Physically close." This was enough of a confession that Spock felt compelled to wait for a verdict on it.

Amanda gently said, "James is in the feeds rather a lot, with a number of others."

"Indeed, that is my difficulty."

"You have not spoken of this with him?"

Spock shook his head. "I had no knowledge of the need for such conversations when they were possible." He remembered Kirk's words, how Spock was more desired by him than any other, how deeply he felt his presence, how concerned he was for Spock's sense of self. But none of those were pledges of fidelity.

Amanda said, "It is difficult to bring up such a topic since it implies that you don't trust him."

"I also have no desire to burden him. I am a Vulcan and burdening him thusly is inexcusable."

"Then you have already decided on your course of action. Which is to wait and see."

Spock felt his brows furrow.

Amanda said, "Perhaps you were hoping I would tell you that you were worrying needlessly. But I cannot. I do not know James very well."

"I also hope I have not offended you."

Her lips relaxed into a hint of a smile. "You had two failed betrothal bonds, Spock. You are free to do as you please as far as I'm concerned."

"Will Father take that view as well?"

She sat up straighter. "I honestly don't know. There is his preference and then there is what can realistically be expected."

"Do you think Father distinguishes between those?"

"I think he does."

Spock clasped his hands before himself. "I see."

"If it helps, Spock. I agree that you cannot take much action from here with regard to James' commitment or lack of it without sacrificing your pride or risking offending him through lack of trust or burdening him. I think you have to wait. Fishing for statements of commitment is a common thing for humans to do in such situations. They do it by making a depreciating statement about themselves in the hopes of having it countered in a manner that is positive enough to cure their uncertainty. Many humans do this without even realizing it. I don't think you can do this without injuring your own pride."

"I agree, I cannot. And I have learned an important lesson regarding communication."

"Be careful not to over-learn it. Insisting upon pledges of commitment too early in a relationship can damage it before it can grow."

Spock shook his head. "I am not fit for this sort of thing."

"You have to accept a certain level of emotional risk. But you can gain so much in exchange for that risk." She gestured at the padd beside Spock. "You have picked a charismatic and socially active human to get involved with. You will have to trust, I think."

* * *

"You actually brought my ship back in one piece."

Kirk turned. Commander Overlander stood before him, almost over him, broad shouldered, feet slightly apart, hands behind her back.

Kirk found a smile and some charm. "I did."

Nearby reception-goers were turning to listen in. Kirk tilted his head to indicate the two of them should find a quieter spot. She hesitated with a doubtful lift of one eyebrow, but turned and strode alongside as he headed for a quiet corner away from the bars and the snack tables.

"You are looking well," Kirk said.

This caused the first break in her hard demeanor. She nodded, met his eyes again.

Kirk looked around the room. It had thinned out. He had sought out and button-holed as much brass as he could find. He was starting to overhear snide comments from others about his bald self-promotion. That was all right. As long as no one suspected what he was really trying to learn.

"Want to go to dinner?" Kirk asked her.

"You're the forward type, aren't you?"

Kirk lifted his hands in a casual shrug. "I'm all right with you saying no. Or offering an alternative. The bubble snacks made me more hungry."

"And I could hear more about my ship," she said.

Kirk settled back into the groundcar seat before the car could accelerate away. He watched the lights of the city going by, bright against the damp buildings and streets. He still wasn't accustomed to ground living, didn't want to get accustomed to it, so he continued to marvel at it.

They pulled up in front of a little East African place where the air outside and inside hung heavy with spices. They sat at a tall basket.

"This is the best place to come when you're really hungry." She refused the menu and ordered for both of them. "They just keep feeding you until you say stop."

Kirk laughed and patted his stomach, which wasn't as flat as it had been. "I may be out of spec by the time I'm let back on a ship. Fortunately synthfood cures that pretty quickly."

The food arrive immediately. Piles of beans and vegetables on a tiled field of foamy looking bread.

She tore off a piece of bread and tore it again before eating it. "You feel like dancing?"

Kirk swallowed what he'd bitten into before replying. "After I eat the kitchen out of food, I'm game."

"I'd like to." She seemed vulnerable as she said this.

"You lack for dance partners?"

She gave a wry shrug.

"You look really good. Especially given how you looked before."

Again, this had the opposite effect of what he intended. Kirk changed topics. "Seen any of the crew?"

"Yes. They wouldn't shut up about you. Especially my yeoman."

"I never did get a read on Rand. I admit once we found a working routine, I didn't risk damaging it by getting to know her better."

"She had some bad luck in the past with who she was assigned under."

Kirk spoke between great gobs of wonderful pulses sandwiched in bread. "Probably how she became such a stickler for rules."

"I went to Western Mass to visit her three days ago. She ran off to her parent's cabin to hide from the press, who were only wanting to ask about you."

"I suspect it's not as bad outside SF."

"You would suspect correctly. Around here Starfleet is our baseball league and our soap opera of choice."

They ate for a while. The server brought more of everything.

She said, "I admit, you did a lot better than I thought you would." She raised her eyes when he didn't reply right away. "I underestimated you."

Kirk shook his head. "It wasn't easy out there. And I lost a few of your crew."

"And you put my security chief in the brig."

"Damn right I did."

"He is one of the best."

Kirk cut her off. "He was an ass. Friend of yours?"

"Yes."

"That explains why he hadn't been straightened out." All of Kirk's anger came back to the fore, fresh as the day of the incident.

She sat back. "You blaming me?"

"Partly. I blamed myself entirely up until this moment. You can share some of it. You had him longer than me. I'll take 90% of the blame for being too naive to realize I needed to review the culture down there before the mission got hot."

She rubbed her hands on the damp cloth and finished her glass of honey wine like a real drinker.

"You see the tape?" Kirk asked.

She shook her head.

"He tortured a half stunned prisoner."

"I looked up the summary report after I saw he'd been transferred to a military holding facility. They have to play rough. They're security."

Kirk felt heat flowing through him. This was too personal for him to discuss casually. Just as he suspected it was too personal for her if Yarrow was a friend of hers.

"If we are going to spend more of an evening together . . ." Kirk gestured gallantly. "Go dancing for example. We should drop this."

"Afraid you're wrong?" she said, sounding the hard nosed commander.

Kirk choked on the wine he'd just sipped. "No. Afraid I'm going to get angry and say something I'll regret. We're both right, in our own ways. We have a perspective difference. I think that if we can't respect the vulnerable, we have no business claiming the high ground in a conflict. You respect strength, I suspect that you do anyway, in all circumstances. I'd submit that being kind when possible is the ultimate expression of strength."

"Oh. Sure. Say 'let's drop it,' then close with that diatribe." But she was smiling.

Kirk lowered his head to hide his own smile. The mood had lifted, at least.

Overlander said, "All right, you can have the last word. You were there, in command, and I wasn't. I don't give you the benefit of the doubt, I'll be a hypocrite who can't live with herself."


	6. Date, Part 2

Chapter 6 - Date, Part 2

Kirk and Overlander took an aircar to the rooftop club on the Mountain Towers building. They were dropped off at the three level parking area just below the club, subject to the gusting winds and rolling fog at five-hundred meters altitude. The club's cover charge made them both stop in surprise but they each pulled out a credit chip.

They walked around the windows and stopped to look out over the bay. The cottony cloud layer floated just above them and the world spread out below as a gray-blue dream of sparkle and bottomless black glassy bay frosted with curls of fog.

"I need a drink," Overlander said. Kirk followed to the bar and abstained given his salary and the expected price of drinks.

She sipped her double shot of bourbon neat and held it out. Kirk thought it best to help with it and accepted.

She finished it and set it aside. Kirk held out his arms in invitation to dance. There were five couples rocking to a slow swing number so the two of them wouldn't stand out too badly, even though he and Overlander were were the only uniformed patrons in the bar.

Her shoulders rose up and she nodded. Kirk put an arm around her upper back and found it unusually hard. He didn't react, just steered them around the floor. She was a good dancer and he didn't notice their height difference.

Many numbers later they took a break at the less crowded window overlooking the rising hillside and a bank of clouds. Overlander stood in a relaxed posture, sipping a soda water. They had danced an energetic swing number and Kirk was glad she'd suggested a break as his pride wouldn't let him do so.

She stared out the window like someone plotting a maneuver. Kirk had put aside his own strategizing for the evening, but her serious demeanor made him review the discussions from the reception. He'd mostly heard gossip which was more than likely false in his experience. He used Admiral Coyran as an opening to discussion, first asking what people thought of the upcoming hearings, then letting them supposition on their own. But everyone was guessing. And anyone close to Pritchard was tight lipped, parroting official lines only. If an organization really buttoned up, it became nearly impossible to break into.

"Want to go to my place?" she asked.

Kirk thought he should have seen that coming, except it didn't match her present demeanor. They were in a crowd, many of whom were glancing at them as they talked.

"Sure."

A man in a stylish shiny suit smiled at Kirk over his drink and the glitter of his fat ring.

The rain pelted the autocab's domed roof. The sound tried to lull Kirk to put his head back and relax.

"It's only 2am." Kirk closed his eyes to check how fast his brain would try and sleep. "On the ship I was pull six shifts in a row without much trouble."

"Leave does that." She sounded dismissive, distant.

Her hand was sitting on the center console between the seats. He picked it up and held it. It was warm; it was hard framing with a soft covering; it wasn't flesh. He'd noticed the oddness while dancing but as part of not reacting, had put it out of his mind.

"I worry you are going to think me a heel in a moment," he said.

She turned to him. "Why?"

Kirk covered her hand with his other hand. She likely could sense the contact it through neural pickups in her brain.

"I'm not available. Well, not for sex. For dinner and dancing I'm available."

"Figures." She looked straight ahead. The autocab turned right and paused, rolled ahead a few feet and paused again. She shook her head, lips pursed.

He waited for her to say something. They rode in silence to her apartment.

Inside her place, she tossed her jacket over a comfy chair and sat down in it. She closed her eyes and sat that way. Kirk sat on the arm of the chair and put a hand on her shoulder, feeling flesh on this side.

"You all right?"

She shook her head faintly. "I'm a wreak." She said it so frankly it ruined the effect. "I'm in the middle of an appeal to the twenty percent cyborg rule for command line, arguing that I'm perfectly normal and capable, thank you, and in the meantime I can't find a date who isn't freaked out or a creepy fetishist."

"Fetishist?"

"Yes. The things you learn the hard way. Hybrid cyborg fetishism is a real thing." She exhaled harshly. "I was hoping to bed you. You, who seems like one of the easiest guys in 'Fleet, and then I'd get out of the rut I've been stuck in since getting out of the hospital. I must be giving off some kind of vibe that scares normal men off."

"I think that's just the stripes."

"It didn't use to be this bad. But I do think it's mostly me. I don't blame anyone. And now even you are turning me down."

"I'd sleep with you in a heartbeat if I were available." He gestured at the seat. "Scoot over."

She shifted to one side and he slide in beside her, sat back, pulling her with him. Her neck relaxed and she adjusted her head on his shoulder. Kirk's eyes grew heavy when he rested his head back. He let them close.

She said, "Who are you with? Graham? You took that shape shifter out two nights ago. Can't imagine Graham of all people would stand for that."

"Are you in my fan club? Subscribed to the James Kirk feed?"

She punched him gently in the gut. "I can hit a lot harder if I override the safety on this arm."

"That's not a pickup line that is going to get you a normal guy."

She snorted. And half a minute later, turned her head to press her face into his uniform, rocked it back and forth.

"Hey . . ." Kirk put both arms around her upper back, both flesh and machine. "Come on, Commander. Don't lose it over that." He petted her head.

"I feel like a semi-human freak. Makes sense I only attract freaks." She shifted to rest her head on the chair back. "And, yes, why do I even care. Sex is a distraction. But that assumes you have a command to be distracted from. It's a reinforcing cycle. One thing changes and everything changes with it. You have a ship and a command and responsibility and the confidence of those above and below you, then you have nothing. It's so much more fragile than it should be. That scares me too."

"And you can't just fix one thing to get it all back," Kirk said. "You have to fix it all and what you can't fix you fake until it fixes itself and hope it eventually does."

She broke the long silence with, "Who the hell are you with? She better be amazing."

"That's some flattery." He adjusted his arms to hold her more comfortably, pulled her back over onto his shoulder.

She turned her head to look up at him. She was close enough to kiss easily. "There better really be someone," she said, sounding dangerous.

Kirk smiled. "There is."

"Please don't say it's Commander Graham."

"It's not."

"Really. Then I have no guesses. Someone who doesn't care you appear to be dating half of 'Fleet SF."

"You talked to Rand and you don't know?"

They stared at each other from inches away. "No, I don't know."

Kirk's brows went up. "Really? Rand didn't say." He tipped his head back. He felt flattered all over again. "She's giving me a shipload of loyalty in that case."

"She's very loyal. She's very discrete, unless she thinks you're breaking an important reg."

"Oh, I was breaking many important regulations, all at once. She reminded me frequently."

Overlander spoke slowly. "She didn't mention that."

"No?" Kirk laughed at her tone which implied she was re-evaluating him. "Then maybe I don't feel like saying."

Her head rested heavily back on his shoulder.

"Seems like you need a friend," Kirk said.

Her voice became that of the unforgiving commander. "You're changing the subject. I'm tempted to order you to talk."

"Well, sir, it's like this, I took one of the captured Vulcan Militants to my quarters and now I seem to be committed to him."

She sat up and stared at him. "Janice would have told me that."

"I'm as surprised as you are that she didn't. She kept insisting that she would file her own reports and I told her she was free to do so. That she didn't have to run them by me. I assumed she was filing them all along."

"You aren't making this up to shock me." She had lost her demanding attitude and just seemed unhinged. "How long did this go on?"

"The rest of the mission."

She shook her head. "You should face court martial."

"For?"

"Consorting with the enemy. Just for a start."

"You saw him on the Ranger's bridge. Everyone saw him on the bridge. Without him we wouldn't have survived the battle with the Sanchez."

"I saw that log." Her eyes jumped back and forth between his own. "Please don't ever get assigned under me."

Kirk smiled gently. "I won't."

"I am completely and utterly shocked that Rand didn't say any of this.." She rested her head on the chair back again, turned her neck to face him. "So you are now committed to this Vulcan."

"Yes. Which is new for me, and I'm still adjusting to the idea."

"I don't comprehend any of this. How did you trust him?"

"I knew him. I told everyone on the ship he was an old friend, but it was from only a few weeks before I was assigned to the Ranger. But I did know him. A little. Have you ever gotten that feeling about someone . . . you feel like you've known them forever?"

"Rand, maybe. Maybe not that as strongly as you describe, but all of my assumptions about her turned out to be true, which makes it easy to get along right away." She shifted to put one leg up on the arm beside Kirk. "So where is your Vulcan now?"

"On Vulcan. His father demanded him back."

She quoted with a sing-song, "His father demanded him back. Look. If you don't want to sleep with me, just say. You certainly wouldn't be the first."

Kirk rubbed her shoulder, her neck. "I would do so if I could. I agree that it's probably what you need if you've been dry this long."

"It's been pretty dry."

"I sympathize. I'll think about who I might hook you up with. If you want."

"You seem a good judge of character. For the most part." She put her hands behind her head and sat leaning up against the farther arm of the chair, both legs bridging over his. "So, tell me about this Vulcan."

Kirk felt himself smile. "He's exotic. Lovely, both physically and personality-wise. And he has no clue about either one." He lifted a hand as if gripping something. "It makes him so . . . real. Unpretentious. And honest. And there is this telepathic, or I assume it is, thing that happens when I'm near him. I feel so calm and complete. It's like nothing I've felt before. And he's kind and caring on top of it, when it's just the two of us, anyway. He's distant if you don't know him, but even that makes me feel special."

"Sounds like a downright useless Militant."

"That he was. He leaked their location and sabotaged the flagship. That's how we got them."

"Well, don't you have useful friends."

"I know it's a stupid cliché but I've never felt like this. Around him I have complete control rather than a lustful lack of control like I usually do. My mind is clear, not clouded and biased. It's a strange state of mind. I've spent my life dodging anything permanent because of what love tends to do to me, but he doesn't do that to me."

"So, you don't love him?"

"No, I do. It's just a different kind of love than I'm used to. It's fulfilling, settled. Without all the painful longing and poor judgement."

She hurrumpfed quietly. "When do you get to see him again?"

"I don't know. We haven't had a video chat in a while. He has Vulcan things to do and I don't want to get in the way of that. It's important to me not to try and change him."

"Not to change him? You found someone that you insist on not changing?"

"He's spent his whole life feeling insufficient. The best gift I can give him is to make it clear he is perfect how he is."

She laughed. "You. Are. A. Romantic."

"No, he just really is perfect the way he is."

* * *

Spock closed the door to his room and keyed the terminal to connect before he sat down.

"Spock." Kirk's image showed him sitting back on a bed, one hand behind his head. Based on the angle Kirk was using a padd propped up on his chest for the connection. The view, with Kirk's chin to his neck, face pulled back by gravity, felt unexpectedly intimate.

"How are you?" Kirk asked, voice rough, warm and caring.

Spock remained unmoved, determined not to burden Kirk with his personal concerns. "I am well."

"And your mother? Has she gotten over you running off into danger?"

"She seems to have."

Kirk smiled. "Glad to hear it." Kirk rocked forward and sat up a bit, adjusted his position with a breathy sigh. "How secure do you think this connection is?"

"Unless your end equipment is compromised, quite secure."

Kirk looked away from the screen at something far away. "My suspicions right now go all the way to the top. Which makes sense. Your brother wouldn't bother with underlings, would he?"

Spock steepled his fingers and reluctantly considered the question. "He often spoke grandiosely about his plans and his power."

"Sorry," Kirk said softly. "Didn't mean to bring you to a bad place. Not when we finally get a chance to talk."

"I wish to assist you. I do not want you to concern yourself with me."

"In that case, I did have one other question, but you don't have to answer right away. Take your time. I need you to review everything he ever said for any hints of what he may have been doing vis-à-vis Command."

"I have already done so. But I do not have the same instincts as you for hidden meaning."

"Can you send me a plot of the routes you followed while you were on his ship? Where you docked. Anything that indicated other systems the ship had visited before you were on board."

"Yes, I can do that."

"Thanks." Kirk's face shifted to affectionate. It reminded Spock of the pictures of Kirk with Commander Overlander dancing at the rooftop restaurant. Kirk had worn the same concerned and compassionate look then too.

Kirk sank back lower. "I miss you," he said, voice laden with emotion.

Spock hesitated. "I am not in a position to independently depart for earth."

"I'm well aware. I shouldn't have said anything." Kirk's eyes moved around the display in front of him. "Everything all right?"

It would be straightforward to ask what activities Kirk had engaged in with all of these women. But Spock refused to add any burden Kirk's already heavy concerns.

"Spock?"

"I should compile the routes you requested."

Kirk smiled wryly. "I should have watched what I said. You are home and need to be full Vulcan. I apologize." He looked down. "If you want to sign off we can. Take care of yourself, Spock."

"I am doing so. You as well. Your position is far more dangerous."

"I only talk to people in a crowd, unless I'm quite certain of them."


	7. Talk

Chapter 7 - Talk

Spock and his mother returned home from shopping. It was an exceptionally hot day and Spock was impressed with his mother's resiliency.

Spock carried the sacks by the office and into the kitchen. Sarek had two of his assistants in his office gathered around the desk.

"Do you know what is happening?" Spock asked his mother.

"Your father wants to return to earth for a time. He feels it sends the wrong message for him to be here rather than at the embassy on earth."

"He is going alone?"

"With some staff, yes. That is his intent."

Spock helped his mother put things away. He was calm, but he was determined, and he delayed approaching the office in order to verify that the first was not going to overwhelm the second.

Spock knocked on the open door to his father's office. Sarek looked up in question and Spock took this as permission to enter.

"You must let me accompany you to earth," Spock said.

Sarek grew stern. "If I take you, I must take your mother, and that I do not intend to do."

Spock said, "Sgroud, Sten, can you take your leave? I have need of speaking to my father alone."

Having never heard Spock make such a request, no one moved until Sarek nodded at his assistant and servant. They departed and closed the door. Sarek stood stiffly, giving the impression of an unwelcome audience.

Spock said, "I need to be on earth, Father. Commander Kirk has a theory as to what is happening inside Starfleet. Initially I dismissed his theory, but upon further consideration, I cannot continue to utterly dismiss it. And if he is correct, he is likely already in grave danger. I need to be there to assist him."

"He is in grave danger from something that you can protect him from?"

Spock dropped his voice, grateful his calm didn't falter. "There is no need for a patronizing tone, Father."

Sarek was silent for a time, face stony. Spock waited to be chastised for being out of line. Instead, Sarek said, "What is this danger you are so certain that you can protect him from?"

"Your other son."

There was another long silence.

Sarek's voice dropped as well. "Why does Kirk believe he is involved with Starfleet?"

"I informed James that my brother is aiding the Outliers. And that he benefits personally from the Federation being distracted by war."

Sarek stood unmoving. "You saw him."

"Yes. He is the reason I was able to move among the Outliers as trusted as I was. Once I passed his personal evaluation, I was above all suspicion. There is great fear and respect of him among them."

Sarek studied Spock's face. "You fooled your brother? I find that highly improbable."

"I do as well, but I am still here."

"If you had not already subject to a thorough evaluation by one of Vulcan's most revered high priests, I would take you immediately." Sarek's hands fell lax at his sides. He must have tensed up. "Zienn insisted you were not traumatized by recent events."

"I was not mentally traumatized by recent events. Zienn does not custom in emotional strain, only in purity of thought. My thought processes were not changed by my recent experiences.

"In facing my brother I borrowed Commander Kirk's likely attitude in a similar situation and forced myself to be pleased to have the opportunity to face him again. It was fortunate, as that mental stance set my brother on a path of wrong assumptions which I proceeded to support, playing to his ego."

"Which were?"

"His dislike of you. And the family by extension."

"He dislikes anyone who puts limits on him."

"Especially an organization as powerful as the Federation."

Sarek raised his chin. "I see your logic." Sarek fell thoughtful. "If we do all go to earth, I can arrange for a large delegation. The Federation would appreciate the gesture of trust if I bring your mother."

"If I may. That is not necessarily safer. More delegates are simply more vulnerable tools for him to turn to his bidding."

"You believe him that dangerous. Why?"

"I do. But I prefer not recount difficult details."

Sarek stepped around the desk. "Who are you protecting? Me or your brother?"

"You. Unwisely perhaps."

Sarek's control was wavering over the top of anger. "I do not require protecting, Spock. If anything, it is you who does."

Spock made certain his hands were relaxed. It was easy now to find the proper logical state, a joy really. "It is my observation that you tend to protect me from the wrong things. But that is in the past where nothing can be changed."

Spock pleaded slightly, "Father, I was with Sybok for twenty six days. Until I could convince him I was more usefully employed on an Outlier ship. That experience is how I know he benefits directly from the Federation being in chaos. That experience is how I know how very dangerous he is, especially to humans." Spock swallowed, feeling vaguely ill despite his newfound control. He dodged away from the worst of the memories to retain his high level of control.

Sarek stated, "In my years I have seen more than you can imagine, Spock."

"You are baiting me. It will not work."

Sarek sat down at his desk. Switched the monitor off. Steepled his fingers before himself. "Indeed. I am challenging you in an attempt to break your will by enticing you to match me. That was previously highly effective. Sit down, Spock."

This was novel. Spock pulled a heavy guest chair forward and sat down. He made himself welcome any forthcoming challenge rather than shrink away as habit inspired him to do.

Sarek sounded fatigued. "I notice it is you who are breaking our normal modes of interaction."

"They were not productive. At least not for me."

"Zienn insisted that any changes I observed in you were due to a gain in confidence, not a shift in personality."

"I partly agree with that. I have also been learning at the feet of a master in social interaction."

"James Kirk?"

"Yes."

"I did not observe that skill in him."

"When he was your guest he avoided acting the leader, which isn't easy or normal for him. You did not see him bringing his skills to bear."

"I see." Sarek paused a long while, stared at his fingertips. "You wish me to trust your opinion about your brother with no further information."

"I do."

"You have a tendency to exaggerate."

"I have a tendency to do exactly the opposite. As a child, if I did not downplay events, leave out the worst of the details, I was never believed at all. Case in point, the many Healers you insisted on taking me to despite my attempts to explain my difficulty with the experience. I tried very hard to frame it in a way that you would believe, leaving out the horror of it as best I could, but you still believed I exaggerated." Spock worried he'd overstepped his side of the argument. He lowered his head. "But that too is in the past."

The silence made Spock raise his head. Sarek's face had lost its sternness, had fallen into a haunted expression.

"Zienn explained that to me." Sarek's voice was low. He was not himself.

Spock had never seen such an expression on his father. Spock emotionlessly insisted, "It is in the past." He did not wish to undermine his father, only gain his understanding. "Without that terrible need to overcome my shortcomings or face yet another Healer, I would not be as strong as I am. Without that ever-present pain, I would not have composed the virus. I would not have stolen a ship to plant the virus. James Kirk would have died on Wolfram Thesus Five. I willingly trade the years of difficulty for that outcome. I should not have framed it in the terms I did. And I apologize."

He sat still while Sarek studied him.

Spock could not bear the silence. "I am somewhat worried Zienn removed too much of the pain. I am accustomed to constantly seeking a way outside of myself, and that desire to escape has been removed. Maybe that's why humans accomplish so much with so little to natively work with. They have no inner peace."

"James Kirk took credit for your virus."

"As I wished him to. I wanted the war to end and that was all."

Sarek pushed to his feet, leaned forward over the desk. "And the war is over. Both of them."

"It isn't. Something is terribly amiss with Starfleet Command. Dangerously so. In ways you have not been made aware but that I observed first-hand. James Kirk could be mistaken about my brother's involvement. But to not act on his assumptions has only downsides, some of which are devastating." Spock resisted standing as well, thinking his father would feel more comfortable with him lower. "Who else can assist him but you and me?"

"You only. As I do not know what we are facing."

Spock let his Vulcan mode go, put his hands on the chair arms, pleaded outright, but in full control. It felt very odd to intentionally open a channel for emotion knowing he could close it again, tune it precisely. "Truly father, you do not wish me to tell you."

Sarek stared at him unmoving.

Spock said, "You may not find trusting me to be logical, but it would be for the best."

Sarek continued to stare.

Spock dropped his hands into his lap. He felt vaguely hopeless, a rare emotion escaping his control since the meld with Zienn. "I will tell you, Father, on one childish condition." Spock waited for a nod. "The condition is that when you regret that I told you, you will openly admit it."

"You act as if this is a battle of wills as opposed to one of information sharing."

"It is a battle of wills. And I concede it." Spock held his hands out as in a martial arts fight, demonstrating that he carried no weapon.

Sarek raised his chin. "So? If you concede. Tell me."

Spock composed his thoughts, tried to find some context for explaining. "Six days after I had been aboard his vessel, Sybok wished to go to Kilpanav Refugava to restock."

"That place is a myth, is it not?"

"Its physical manifestation is not particularly mythical."

Spock waited for Sarek to reply to this since he did not want to begin his retelling from a state of disbelief. Sarek held up a hand indicating Spock should continue.

Spock said, "I am going to regret speaking. I feel I am teaching you a lesson for a change."

Sarek's gaze grew sharp. "You are glaringly out of proper form, Spock. That will not be allowed to continue indefinitely."

Spock put his hand on his chin and rested his head on it. He knew he was mimicking Kirk. "You are forcing me to re-experience this to describe it to you."

"Humans have been a terrible influence on you."

Spock waited for Sarek to say more, but he did not.

Spock sat properly again and said, "Kilpanav Refugava is a large place, a planet circling a dead sun but still with a molten core which is used for power. I do not know if my brother was attempting to shock me or was simply going about doing what he normally would, but he perused the slave markets at great length, and he saw a Romulan for sale. And over the next hour proceeded to hypothesize about the possible differences between Romulans and Vulcans, especially in the mind."

Spock fell silent, remembering the confusion on the Romulan's face. His age was probably thirty or so in Vulcan years. Sybok had taken the slave by the arm and he had fallen into a strange calm that was almost happy.

"The slave was already rather damaged. One might expect that. There are better markets for selling beings. The Gatling Outpost has a much better stock."

"You are attempting to be funny."

"Humans successfully use humor to smooth over horror."

"Humans shouldn't create so much horror to smooth over."

Spock steepled his fingers. "Very little of the horror I observed was created by humans. I watched T'Grux of Voroth snap a human's neck and drop him without a further thought. I saw Skoyv and Sewrtov of Raal nearly cut each other to ribbons in a bloodlust. All of which, by the way, are minor incidents in comparison to your other son."

"What became of T'Grux?"

"She was killed when the USS Ticonderoga blew up their ship. A fitting instant death. I can only assume that was the sort she preferred."

Sarek wasn't baited this time. He nodded that Spock should continue.

Spock said, "Sybok took the Romulan back to his ship, which is masquerading as a Tellarite rapid transport trading vessel, complete with crew and goods. He put the Romulan to sleep . . ." Spock waved his hand in the air the way Sybok had, putting his victim under by force of psychic will. ". . . . Or something like sleep, and melded with him a very long time. I do not know if one could consider it mind rape, the Romulan had no will to resist."

Spock tried to find words to describe what happened next. A feeling had come over the air in the cabin, like nothing Spock had ever experienced, a tearing away of the perceived fabric of reality. Spock had been unable to continue standing and had lowered himself to sit on the deck with his legs to his chest, holding to himself as an anchor as the world around him dissolved and something seeped through, overlaid on the physical reality he could perceive through his eyes and ears and sense of touch.

"Spock?" Sarek was standing right before him.

"Strange. It is as if I can repeat it."

"Repeat what?"

"Not repeat it. Recall the state of awareness, perhaps." Spock swallowed. "I could not repeat the manifestation. I did not understand it."

There had been something like agony beyond physical pain. Sybok hadn't been the source of the breakdown in reality, the Romulan had been. He had projected out an altered state of mind as a result of what was happening to him. His body had contorted into an arch from a dream state, or something like a dream state, a pose matching his distressful mental projection. Reality had wavered around Spock. Something, whatever it was, leaked in around them. Spock could feel it now, almost. It was there waiting. If he just put his mind into the same state, it would seep in again.

Sarek had hold of Spock's arm. Spock jerked, but he wasn't released.

"If you do that again, I will send the shuttle for Healer Zienn, who claims you were not harmed."

"I am unharmed. The memory is not just a memory. It is a psychic state. Zienn examined it and declared it unusual for one not trained in his arts but not unprecedented."

Sarek released him. Stepped back behind his desk.

"You are of the priest class."

"That is part of why he dismissed it."

"Tell me without remembering so fully."

Spock nodded, remembered the physical events without letting himself return to that place. "Sybok tore away the Romulan's katra. Slowly. Over the course of hours. He peeled it away from its physical anchor, but instead of releasing it, or storing it . . ." Spock closed his eyes, unable to resist the queerly twisted memory of one soul sucking down another. " . . . he consumed it."

Spock opened his eyes. Sarek's were closed and he rocked faintly on his feet.

A long minute later, Sarek opened his eyes. "Harmed or not. I do hope you have not become inured to anything you should be properly appalled by."

"Quite the contrary, I cannot bear death. I feel directly that loosening of the spirit and I don't like it." Spock sounded too young as he said this. He straightened. Interlocked his fingers. He felt relieved for having confessed this last detail to his father, rather than regretful of admitting a weakness.

Sarek said, "I fulfill my end of the agreement. I regret hearing what you've told me. But I needed to understand. And yes, if there is any chance, even a very small one, that he is influencing Starfleet, we can lose no time."


	8. Need

Chapter 8 - Need

There were two news feed cameras still hovering around Spock and his family when Kirk approached. Spock turned unerringly his way as soon as Kirk's gaze fell upon him. Sarek serenely answered a reporter's question and listened attentively to the next. Beside him, Spock's face revealed nothing. He appeared more stoic than his father.

Kirk hadn't warned anyone he was coming, had waited until late, until he expected things had wound down. He stopped ten meters away and stood with his hands at his sides. Spock said something to Sarek and stepped over to Kirk. A camera and many eyes followed him.

Kirk adopted a formal tone, avoided looking Spock up and down a second time in his closely fitted robes. "Hello, Spock. How are you?"

"I am very well, Commander. I trust you have fully recovered."

Kirk nodded. "It wasn't much to recover from. I trust your family is settling in."

"We have. Thank you." Spock nodded as if all kinds of problems hadn't cropped up, such as phaser damage to the embassy.

Kirk held back a smile. "I was wondering if you had duties or if you could get away for an hour."

"I believe we are nearly finished here. I can make time. I do not have official duties."

Spock nodded at his parents and stepped away with Kirk. The camera followed them out onto the gray evening light of the plaza where it was raining. The noise of the rain on the glass overhangs made conversation difficult. Kirk tilted his head to indicate the aircars waiting along the far curb. People were running through the rain around them. The two of them walked. Kirk barely noticed the moisture soaking his clothes in his pleasure at having Spock at his side.

Kirk had them flown to the hillside dormitory where he was staying. The quiet of the foyer was a relief from the crowds and the noise of the rain on the aircar dome. In the inner lobby Kirk registered with the computer that he had a guest.

Kirk said, "I was hoping for a nice dinner out, but I don't think that's possible. Between the two of us, it's far too much attention. That and I want you all to myself."

They took the diagonal lift up the hillside to Kirk's floor. His assigned room felt spacious because it had full-width window on the end overlooking the salt marshes. Kirk raised the temperature three degrees.

Kirk said, "I've been making myself as accessible as possible, circulating as much as I can, but I need a break. Have a seat and I'll order something in. Everything in this city tastes like heaven. Are you hungry?"

Spock turned his whole body from the window. "No, but you may eat." He looked out again. His expression hadn't even twitched and for the first time Kirk didn't sense him locking down his control. He seemed relaxed, in fact. Relaxed and completely emotionless.

Kirk put in an order for vegetarian specialties from the closest wok place and poured out a glass of wine for each of them and sat down on the padded window seat that doubled as seating for the table.

"How was Vulcan?"

"Unexpected."

Kirk waited, sipped his wine.

Spock said, "I had some of the same difficulty you are having here. I attract a great deal of attention. I would not previously have expected Vulcans to allow themselves so much outward curiosity in public."

Spock's voice revealed the same natural lack of emotion as his expression. Kirk scratched the back of his head, tried to calm his wonder at this different being he had in his room.

"You managed to come along with your father back to earth."

"I told him your suspicions and I told him what I saw of his other son. He agreed that to not act had enough dire possible consequence that it warranted action without certainty." All of that was stated with no inflection.

Kirk chewed on his thumb. "Right."

Spock turned. "Have you discovered anything new?"

"Nothing concrete. Just rumors. Do you have a hardcopy photo?"

Spock nodded. He handed over a silvery envelope from his pocket. Kirk pulled the plasticard photo out of it. The Vulcan on it had less than pristine hair and very strange eyes. It was a good photo. He didn't look harmless.

"Given how much he'd stand out, he must not have much freedom of movement on earth," Kirk said. "But there are much better things to talk about." He toed off his boots and put his stocking feet up on the welded table. He observed Spock from that position.

Spock turned to him again, gave no indication he read any hint in Kirk's words.

Kirk took a deep breath to prepare himself for the issue he had to address. "You mentioned at some point that your father insisted on taking you to a Healer."

Spock found the view outside hard to resist, apparently. "He did. But he let me choose which one."

The topic was emotional quicksand, but Kirk had to tread it. "And how did that go?"

"Quite well."

Kirk's chest tightened. He poured himself more wine. "Have a bit," he said, pushing Spock's glass in his direction.

Spock put his hand on the glass and his robe sleeve fell downward to encompass it. He lifted the glass to the light. "Strange to willingly consume something that will cause incapacity."

"Humans need a little help to relax sometimes. If we learned meditation, it probably wouldn't be necessary."

Another silence fell upon them while Kirk tried to come up with another question.

The door chimed, indicating the delivery had arrived. Kirk went down to fetch it from the drone and returned and began opening containers even though his appetite had fled.

"It's your turn to try a little earth food. Have a seat."

Kirk didn't bother with plates but he made Spock sit across from him at the table. Spock watched Kirk using his chopsticks before arranging a pair in his own hand and attempting to use them.

Spock managed a bite of something easy to pick up. "What is this?"

"Spicy watermelon rind."

"I do not think my mother has ever mentioned it."

"Like it? It's nice in the summer."

Kirk knew he sounded like an idiot teen on a first date. He ate more to keep his mouth busy.

Nibbling wasn't bringing Kirk's appetite back. The knot in his stomach was getting tighter. He opened another box, found it contained shanshu.

"What is that?"

"Mountain fern. Try it."

Spock did so, giving no indication of like or dislike.

Kirk dreaded the answer, but he had to ask. "So, what did this Healer do? If you don't mind my asking."

"He examined everything that had happened to me since departing Vulcan. This allowed him to reassure my father that there was no danger to my presence."

"Your father was worried about what your brother might have done to you."

"He did not know I had seen my brother at that point."

"In that case what motivated him?"

"He believed I had changed."

Kirk sipped his wine, tried not to sound too ironic. "I can see that being an issue."

"The healing meld was long. Almost four an a half hours. I was greatly impressed by Healer Zienn's control, which for him is natural. With a meld of that duration I observed enough of it to emulate it. As well, with the healing he performed, control is considerably easier. I have a core of self now that does not constantly generate its own difficulty." He sounded content and distant.

"I'm really happy for you, Spock," Kirk said, because he was and he should say it. He held up one of the boxes. "Do you want any more?"

Spock shook his head.

Kirk closed them up and put them in the small chiller. He could not have felt more ambiguous and guilty about his ambiguity than he did right then. He put the wine away as well and sat back, looking Spock over as though the Vulcan were the chess board. Spock sat with his hands loosely clasped in his lap. There was no hint of strain, or effort, just emotional neutrality.

"You were all right melding with the Healer?" Kirk heard frantic emotion underlying his own voice.

"I had no choice. But Healer Zienn is quite skilled, although unorthodox, or perhaps adaptive would be a better term. It was not as unpleasant as I expected it would be."

Kirk thought about Spock's childhood stories of Healers trying to make him more Vulcan against his nature and marveled at Spock's current stunning lack of self-awareness.

Spock looked down at his hands, spoke in the same calm impersonal tone. "It was worth the intrusion since he relieved me of a great deal of old pain."

Kirk wanted to touch him, but he seemed too remote. He stared at him in agony instead.

"You seem anxious, James. It is not a mode I have ever seen you in."

"I'm trying to find my way, here." Kirk sat up straight, pulled Spock's untouched wine to himself.

"Has something happened?" Spock asked.

Kirk wanted to imagine he could hear something in Spock's voice, a slight rise of concern.

"No, nothing's happened." Kirk longed to add, not with me.

Kirk forced a wry half smile. "I work on instinct, and your lack of feedback is throwing me off a little."

Spock said, "I would have described this as more than a little."

"Thinking my way through interacting with you rather than using my instincts isn't easy," Kirk said. "When do your parents expect you back at the embassy?"

"I told them to expect me after breakfast."

Warm tingles started along Kirk's arms. He swallowed a gulp of wine. The liquid had gone warm. It tasted wholly different.

"To be blunt . . ." Kirk felt vast open air loom under his heart. He was going to plummet or not based on the next reply. "I'm not sure whether you need me anymore."

Spock's eyes narrowed fractionally. "I have not changed."

Kirk tried to imagine the same Spock behind that control. If he was behind that control, he might actually be more lonely.

"I'm being unfair to you," Kirk said.

"I do not understand that assessment."

"I'm afraid of explaining myself because I promised to always accept you as you were, and explaining myself might be construed as wanting you to change."

Spock nodded crookedly. "I comprehend how that might be the case."

"You really are the same you inside there?"

Spock didn't reply right away. "I seem that changed to you?"

"You seem completely changed. I don't . . . I don't know you. To be blunt again."

Spock's gaze moved inward. "This is the state I have striven my whole life to attain, but only managed a simulation of it with great effort. I apparently was unaware how very poorly I succeeded previously."

"Your emotions are all still there?"

Spock's left brow went up. Just a little. "Where would they have gone?"

Kirk rubbed his hair. "Like I said. I'm being unfair to you." He finished the wine but continued to grip the glass.

Spock took it from his hand and set it aside. "Twice you have resisted reaching out."

"I don't know this landscape to move around in it," Kirk said.

Spock's head shook in two little twitches. "I am disturbing you this much? You who move so easily through social interactions?"

Kirk intertwined his hands together and rested them on his knees. "I have everything on the line here."

"You very often do. You have the lives of your crew and your own-"

Kirk waved him off. "This isn't like that." Kirk bowed his head while he put his thoughts together. He shook his head. "I don't want to force you to change, so I don't know what to say."

"Please. Say what you wish. I do not wish to distress you thusly."

"You have to promise to remain yourself. Whatever self you wish to be."

"I promise I will. But that self wishes to be with you. And to not distress you in doing so."

Kirk felt a smile warp his lips. "I'm relieved to hear that." He considered his words, determined to talk only about himself and let Spock work out his own thoughts. "I've grown accustomed to knowing I'm not alone, that someone is waiting for me as much as I'm waiting for them. And I don't want to lose that. You are astounding to me. And I will go through anything, wait any amount of time necessary, if there is the likelihood that we will be together."

"This perhaps answers a question I had." For the first time, Spock fell short of emotionally neutral.

Kirk reached out over the table to grab Spock's forearm. "What?"

"While I was on Vulcan, monitoring the feeds, I realized we had never discussed exclusivity. I had insufficient experience to know such discussion was necessary."

Kirk's heart picked a faster pace. "I was making the circuit of invited dinners, trying to gather information about what was happening within command. There are a number of wealthy and well-connected people in this town who pay for access to the famous and or notorious. They in turn are usually well connected. I needed Graham with me as a foil to mask my intent. I didn't sleep with her or anyone else."

"I know. The scent would still be on you if you had."

"I didn't even want to sleep with anyone so I didn't consider that you might think I had." Kirk stood up and shifted his hand to Spock's shoulder. "I don't think of you the way I've thought of any other lover. I assumed everything was settled between us. I certainly didn't mean to make you jealous. Or hurt."

"There was no way to ask you that did not risk creating a rift due to lack of trust or emotional burdening."

Kirk walked around behind Spock and rubbed his shoulders. "I know well exactly the position you were in. And I'm terribly sorry I put you in it. I'm supposed to be the experienced one, no less."

"Do not be sorry. It was a learning experience. I expect to have more of those if I am accepted into the Academy."

Kirk bent and touched his lips to Spock's temple, then his cheek. Moving slowly, he worked his way to his mouth, which was at an awkward angle from behind. But the taste put his body on alert.

Spock pulled away and canted his head to look up at Kirk. "I still sense anxiety in you. If we are physically intimate, will that help you?"

Kirk squeezed Spock's shoulders, couldn't help grinning. "Yes."

"Would you like to do that now?"

Kirk's breathing sped up. He let go and went to the central controls to set the windows to exterior reflective. He held out his hand and drew Spock to sit with him on the padded window seat. He gratefully slid his arms around Spock's back, around the weighty but thin robe he wore.

Spock said, "I assure you that I have not changed."

Kirk tilted his head back and gave an extra lift of his chin as if Spock should take action.

Spock lifted a hand, brushed Kirk's temple with his thumb. "What does that gesture indicate?"

"I was asking for a kiss."

Spock's head bent toward him and captured his mouth, then each of his lips separately, drawing them upward before releasing them, then repeating. Without breaking the kiss, Kirk scooted backwards and shifted his right leg around behind Spock, resting it along the metallic window. He pulled Spock against him and reclined back on the round side bolster. He adjusted his arms to hold Spock fiercely.

Spock lowered this side of his head to Kirk's shoulder, rested his forehead against Kirk's jaw.

The anxious tension began to leach out of Kirk's arms. He ran his fingers through Spock's hair, turned to kiss his bangs. He let the familiar and much-missed calm overcome him.

Kirk said, "You do what you want to me. I'll just rest here."

"Yes, I'm sure you will." This was spoken with no sarcastic inflection, but it made Kirk smile.

Spock slipped out of Kirk's grip and stood up to divest himself of his robes. He hung them in the closet and returned, naked.

"That moves things along," Kirk said, looking the lean form up and down.

"I do not want them to pick up the scent of sex, which is quite obvious to other Vulcans."

Spock resumed lying within Kirk's limbs.

"This is kinkier than it should be," Kirk said. "You naked, me still in uniform."

"I shall leave you in it then?"

Again, the strange contrast between emotional neutrality and the actual words.

Kirk cleared his throat so his voice wouldn't be too breathy. "You can do with me whatever you want."

"I am not in need. But your need is quite apparent." He shifted to better lie flat against Kirk's chest. He pushed a knee to the side, which parted Kirk's legs.

Kirk settled his arms comfortably around Spock, clasping his hands together. He looked over the rise of Spock's shoulder blades to the muscular bare skin of his back. "Are you cold?"

"Not yet."

Spock rested his head on Kirk's shoulder again, traced his Starfleet insignia with his finger.

"I have arranged to attend orientation and application interviews this week while we are on earth."

"Your father still sanguine about you joining? You never told me what changed his mind."

"Guilt."

Kirk's body lost interest. Spock lifted his head. "I should not introduce new topics."

"Heavy topics especially. But now that we're on the topic . . . Did you let him do it out of guilt?"

"Should I have stopped him?"

"Yes."

"I see. It is clearer now and I believe you are correct. The opportunity is still open to remedy that." Spock rested his head on Kirk again. "Your anxiety has eased."

"Yes. Holding you like this makes everything all right."

Kirk ran his hands slowly up and down Spock's corded back. This relationship would become much more complicated once Spock was a cadet. Kirk slid his hands around narrow ribs and pressed Spock tightly against him again.

After a moment, Kirk added, "I like this you."

"You cannot help but perceive me as changed."

"I can't. But you seem amazingly at ease."

"Perhaps too much so. I am concerned that my pain was what drove me to actions that were essential."

Kirk moved his hands lightly, skimming taut skin. Spock's warm weight was making him drowsy. "Pain is a good driver for a while, but it wears you down. You'll find another source of motivation to get things done if you really want to find another."

"I am pleased to hear that."

Kirk reached down with his left hand as far as he could and found more flesh to grip. Spock inched upward, straddled Kirk's right thigh, and rested against him again. Excitement tightened Kirk's chest.

"You are leading, I think," Spock said.

"This isn't leading. This is enjoying."

"You should proceed. I am not skilled enough to lead."

"It's not about skill. It's about using your senses, which you are very good at."

"Nevertheless, I believe it best if you lead."

"One of these times I'm going to make you do everything."

Both of them satisfied, Kirk sat up, catching Spock's leanness in an embrace. Kirk made a sound of contented pleasure and released Spock to pull off his uniform shirt.

"It's early but I want to take you to bed."

Spock's face had relaxed, his eyes had grown hooded. "That would be acceptable to me."

Kirk stood in one motion, pulling Spock along in his arms. He had the covers tossed down and Spock on his back in one more motion.

"You are indeed practiced at this."

Kirk smiled, stripped off his unsealed trousers, and ordered the lights down. The bed wasn't quite wide enough for two. Kirk slid in close, hooked a knee over Spock's leg.

Spock said, "If I may, I do not understand how you could reach the conclusion that I did not need you."

The light from the broad window dimmed by the second. It was too early to be in bed, but Kirk wanted nothing more in the world than to hold this precious being.

Kirk breathed deeply. "Sometimes people only need someone else when they are already vulnerable. In my experience. Especially if they are the independent type."

"I see. I do not truly understand why you need me either."

Kirk opened his eyes and pushed up onto an elbow. The light was too low to see more than an outline of Spock's angular features. "I feel like I've been looking for you my whole life and didn't know it."

"That is not logical."

Kirk kissed the soft flesh between Spock's nipple and his armpit. "Tough luck."


	9. Application, Part 1

Chapter 9 - Application, Part 1

"Good luck today," Kirk said. He gave Spock's arms a squeeze, then tugged Spock's broad Vulcan sleeves smooth again.

"Do you have any final advice for me?" Spock asked.

"Be yourself." Kirk smiled. He stood straighter. "The interview process is partly orientation for the Academy. So ask questions if you have them. You might get a difficult interviewer or you might get an easy one. You can't tell. Retired captains and commanders, mostly. They can be a mix. The younger ones who were pulled from space assignments for some reason and assigned to teach will be the worst you'll encounter."

Kirk bowed his head and raised it again. "I've been contemplating taking a year to do the same, so I shouldn't talk, should I?"

"Are you indeed?"

Kirk stepped back, leaned on a hand on the table. "I've toyed with the idea. It would put me closer to you."

"That would please me."

"I have to decide if I'm ready to be grounded, even temporarily. It's a tough decision."

"I do not want you to go against your nature, nor do I wish to have you assigned sub-optimally, given your skills."

"Like I said. I'm thinking about it. But as to your interviews today. You have a tendency to remain quiet. You'll be in some group situations. And you don't want to dominate, but you can't just sit and observe either. Starfleet wants people who show some assertiveness. Skills are useless if you are too shy to use them."

Spock nodded. Then with a lifted brow said, "I understand."

Kirk smiled. "Good."

After Spock had gone, Kirk had himself beamed to the Ranger. Little was happening and the corridors were dimmed as if she'd been mothballed. There was a skeleton crew of four on board and he found two of them on the bridge and two in engineering. He felt disconnected even after chatting with each of them. The full fifty or so regular crew felt like a family until reaching earth, when they so easily scattered and became individuals again.

Kirk stared out the viewscreen at the blue orb of earth rotating below. It felt strange to recognize the outlines of the continents below the ship. Down there in the center of that continent there, was Iowa, and presumably, his mother.

Kirk must have sighed in frustration because the bridge crew both turned to him in question. Kirk smiled at them, masking everything he was feeling. "Be good to not get used to seeing earth from orbit. I'd like to see a planet I don't recognize."

"Yes, sir."

Kirk thought about Spock at the Academy for the first time, getting his bearings. He thought about the feel of Spock's naked body. He thought maybe he should figure out how to make it regulation for them to continue being together if Spock got accepted.

Kirk did some the paperwork in his quarters then beamed down to the less than romantic Starfleet administrative offices, which were at the edge of the main campus in a boxy building. Rather than ask the computer for the proper forms, he felt he should his charm to expedite the process, which meant he had to find a being to talk to.

The computer assisted with finding the right office. The quiet office of Personnel Regulatory Compliance held a counter with monitors and a single desk with a thin forty-ish human of indeterminate sex working at it.

"Hello," Kirk said, full on smile.

The person looked up, not in question, just waiting. Unlike most civilians who worked in Starfleet, the person didn't glance at his braid, even though Kirk had put his hands on the counter to make it visible.

Kirk said, "I have a question about the best way to register a relationship prior to someone entering the Academy."

"Get married."

Kirk laughed with the right degree of self-depreciation. "Cultural issues make that complicated. Very complicated. I remember from my Academy time some mention of a less formal paperwork option."

The person stood up, revealing broad shoulders like a man, but a bit of hip like a woman, and a sculpted chest that could be a woman in shape with a tight bra, or a man who lifted weights every day. Kirk wished he could peg which to fine tune his charm assault, if necessary.

The staff member sounded vaguely bored, which Kirk thought a good sign. "You have a few options. Basic Partner Registration is the easiest."

"If it makes it okay for me to be dating a cadet, that's all I need."

The staff member rested an arm on the counter and turned the nearest monitor to tap on it with rapid punches of a ring finger. "What's your registration number?" The screen filled with Kirk's personnel information. Kirk watched for a reaction but this person didn't seem to recognize him or care. "Your other doesn't have a Starfleet number yet I assume."

"He has a contractor number. And an Earth ID."

"We'll use the Earth ID." The staff person punched that in, but the system rejected it with a code of mixed digits and letters. "Hm," the staff person said, turning the monitor more to the back of the office. New screens popped up over each other as the screen was tapped.

"What's wrong?" Kirk asked.

The voice was less bored now. "Your partner is coming up as a minor."

Kirk felt ice enter the center of his chest and spread inexorably across the front of his ribs and into his arms. "What?" He recovered his poise. "He's 19 or 20." Kirk looked at the birthday field on the screen. "19, almost 20."

"Earth years."

"Yes. He's half human. He's a human adult."

The worker shook his or her head. "Doesn't matter. For purposes of Starfleet Academy the rules of the resident planet or colony apply. We have pure blooded humans from Berthold Outpost whom we classify as minors until they are 22."

"That's not the way Starfleet handles it," Kirk said.

"No. The academy isn't Starfleet. People send us their young people and we try to apply some of their protections until said youngster finishes or drops out and goes home. We'd get fewer applicants if we didn't. Once they finish and get a Fleet assignment, Fleet rules apply."

Kirk felt he had to agree with the system on principle, and disliked that he had to.

"So," Kirk said, feeling that iciness creeping across his front again. "What is Vulcan's definition of a minor? Do you happen to know?"

The worker continued to punch the screen, calling up other database entries, sometimes after a long delay. "This entry is very unusual. It has two defunct betrothal registrations, but none in force, and no corresponding deaths or marriages. Not sure how that happened."

Kirk hadn't asked Spock about this, just like he had left all other difficult topics untouched to leave himself leeway to delve into the ones he had no choice about. Kirk knew betrothals were common, but expected that Spock would have said something. But two failed betrothals was a different issue. Kirk felt bitter sympathy for Spock all over again.

The staff member said, "Vulcan is the most interesting of Federation planets because of how much they absolutely hate to talk about anything regarding sex. That makes human sociologists adore researching it all the more. On Vulcan the rules differ by sex. There is no fixed lower bound on girls."

"What?"

"Well, think about it. You betroth a pair of young kids, often with an age gap in favor of the boy, and the boy goes into his Time. What are you going to do?"

"I suppose."

"You should have found a girl, then the registration would have gone straight through." The worker dropped his or her hand and stared at the screen. "For boys, the rule is whenever they reach their first Time of Mating."

"That's in the computer?" Kirk asked.

"No. But the status is. Betrothed one month, married the next. It's obvious what happened in between."

"Right." Kirk refused to feel panicked. "There's no way to simply make the earth rules apply here because he doesn't fit into the Vulcan rules?"

"No. The Vulcan rules still apply. Residency trumps for the Academy, remember?"

"But he's half human. What if he never has a Time? He can't stay a minor forever." Kirk settled his emotions and said, "What age range do males have their first Time of Mating?"

"Anywhere from 14 Vulcan years up to 37. It's a pretty broad range."

Kirk felt relief flooding him.

The worker smirked. "Yes, lucky for you, you got yourself a year of leeway there."

Kirk rubbed his eyes, trying to force his brain to work. "Okay, these are only Academy rules, right? Not Federation?"

"Federation rules are more complicated. If I were you, I'd familiarize myself with them. Soon."

Kirk felt like he'd eaten a bowl of sour fruit.

The worker hovered a hand in front of the monitor screen. "Should I delete the partial application?"

"Yes, I guess you should."

"If you can demonstrate that he's gone through his Time, then you can reopen it."

"That's the only way?"

"As far as this office goes. Yes."

Kirk wanted to swear, but clenched his jaw instead. He'd have to think of something. Or wait. A very long time. He was sticking his neck out investigating Starfleet Command. This relationship had just become a huge vulnerability. One whiff of anything of this sort in the press and he was done. Like Coyran said, all the way to the bottom in one fell swoop.

"Thanks for your help."

The staff member's attitude had changed to bright and amused. "Sure thing. Good luck."

"Thank you. I'm going to need it, I think."

* * *

Spock stepped out of the aircar in front of the Starfleet Academy main entrance. The building had mirrored pillars resembling prisms holding up a high overhang and, behind that, a bulky tower broken up by an awkwardly angled roofline. Everything was covered in glass to draw in the sunlight, anathema to Spock's Vulcan experience of architecture.

The doors led to a trapezoidal atrium with pillars placed seemingly at random. Students were milling about. It was easy to spot the applicants, they stood with heads tilted up, or stood looking worried. Spock checked in at a kiosk and was instructed to wait there in the atrium. He stood with his back to a pillar and observed the area.

On schedule, a figure carrying an amplifier gathered the applicants to him. He wore an Academy commander's uniform. He was only a handful of years older than James, and appeared a little harried. Trying to follow James' advice, Spock stood in the middle of the group, hands clasped before him, rather than on the far edge, or even slightly behind the speaker as might have been his preference.

"Welcome, everyone. I assume everyone either understands Standard or has a working translator on them." He described the function of the building they were in, then launched into the history of Starfleet Academy. He then led them off into the building for a tour.

Spock found most of the repeated glances he received came from the other non-earth species, the two Andorians and the Garath, who was keeping her long prehensile fingered hands inside her heavy robes.

After ninety two minutes, they were brought to a large classroom and seated at terminals and required to ID themselves through genetic scan. They were presented with skill tests where the questions grew rapidly harder if they were answered correctly. The topics jumped between math, astronomy, physics, engineering, and space law. Spock knew he was getting the law answers incorrect because they never grew in difficulty. If it was relevant he could learn it at a later time easily enough. He guessed as best he could, and focused on the next question he could answer.

At thirteen hundred they were given a short lunch break. Spock would normally have sat alone, but he sat intentionally at the most crowded table. He received curious glances but the conversation resumed around him moments later. Based on it, he wasn't the only one who struggled with the law questions.

They returned to the large classroom and the commander said, "This afternoon's testing is different from that you had this morning to place into the academy class and into specializations. This test isn't of your knowledge, but of your personality and temperament. If you qualify today, you will still be psych scanned as well before admittance. This is just a preliminary test for use in the interviews. As you finish the round you will be called into your first one-on-one interview. So remain by your terminal to see that assignment come up. Then each time, return here for further testing and instructions."

The conversations fell away and the scent of nervousness increased in the room. Spock did the same as the others and adjusted his seating and waited for the computer to begin. He cleared his mind. No one had warned him about this, and based on the murmurs, no one else expected it either.

The first section asked Spock to recognize colors and once it determined which he could perceive, began presenting combinations and asking questions about what mood they represented. He felt uncertain about answering. Should he answer what he believed the human association was, or some kind of cultural Vulcan one, or something else entirely based on his own reaction?

Ask questions, James had said. Spock stood and went to the front and waited for the commander to finish with another applicant. While he waited he tried to remain uncaring about the number of gazes he attracted standing there.

The commander turned tiredly to Spock. Spock said, "I am in need of clarification. Am I estimating a general cultural understanding of the colors, either earth or Vulcan, or inventing a reaction of my own?"

The commander made a thoughtful face. "Well, if you have to invent one, do that. It's your personal association we want to know. The test assumes you already have one. For the whole test, it is assumed to be asking for your individual reactions."

"I see. Thank you."

Back at the terminal Spock still felt uncertain. The test seemed intended to exclude someone who would intentionally detach themselves from any kind of emotional associations. He decided to use an experience map for the colors. If he were to have an emotional association for bright teal and orange, it would be the ring shaped candies in a tube his mother sometimes brought home from earth for him when he was young. So he entered "sweet" for that one. Since there was no logical reason to have a wrong answer, any answer was as good as any other.

After fourteen of these, the computer tested his hearing and presented musical segments and requested he categorize his reactions.

Spock was one of the last to complete the first round of temperament tests, which was more similar to his experience of being tested on Vulcan than he expected he would experience at Starfleet. The terminal instructed him to go to room 8G. The previous applicant, appearing strained and staring exclusively at the floor exited just as he arrived, nearly running into him. This human hurried off with a scissoring step as if to escape danger with pride intact.

Spock entered the room and waited to be told to take a seat. When gestured to, he sat at attention in the movable chair and waited with a calm detachment that demonstrated he could wait hours if necessary. The room contained only a table, two chairs and a female human of captain rank who appeared to be mid seventies in earth years. She gave Spock a long stare before turning to her padd and requested his name and his earth ID. Spock serenely replied with both.

"Why do you want to join Starfleet?" She sounded jaded, as if he was making the biggest mistake of his life.

Spock said, "I am of two worlds. I intend to make a home between them, in space."

"You don't have to join Starfleet to do that."

"I have wanted to join Starfleet since I first learned of its existence, when I was four." Spock had never told anyone this, not even James. Just saying it made him see things differently, made him accept that about himself rather than feel vaguely ashamed because it meant he was not fully Vulcan since he could not accept his place among them.

She glanced at her padd. "You were slow on the association tests. Why?"

"I have been trained since I was a child to avoid making such associations since they risk disturbing future logical decision making. I had to extrapolate from my experiences what may have been meaningful enough to create an association, had I made one subconsciously, and what that association might have been. I expect there was a bias in which past experiences I choose to draw upon, therefore legitimizing my answers as much as possible. If there can be a legitimate answer to such questions."

"That's quite an answer." She made an annoyed face. "What makes you think you can live in a cramped space with humans twenty-four-seven under high stress situations, faced with all kinds of emotions from your fellows?"

Spock glanced at the padd which he could not read from where he sat. "You do not have my full record in front of you?"

She rolled her eyes and looked through it. "I have your application and essays. And there is attached a letter from your father stating that he doesn't object." She looked up at Spock with impatient expectation.

"I see." Spock didn't know if his recent experiences were overall in his favor or not. He didn't want to explain that he was on a Militant ship if he could avoid it. If that was not in his application currently, then he didn't want it added in. If someone had left it off to give him a fair chance, perhaps that person knew better.

"I have some experience that is similar. I adjusted to those circumstances, even as hostile as those circumstances could be at times. I have cultivated one human friendship and am slowly learning how to be half of this emotional partnership."

Her frown eased. Perhaps that answer had been good enough.

"Your physics, astronomy, and engineering test scores are near perfect. But I'd expect that from a Vulcan. What are you going to do when you encounter something difficult for you? Or worse, unsolvable."

"I am not certain I understand. Can you restate the question?"

She exhaled while talking. "People who find things too easy often don't have the coping skills for the hard work of the real world where things aren't laid out for you. They freeze up when faced with things they don't understand because they've never learned how to learn on their own. Perfect scores are not a positive."

Spock nodded that he understood now. "I am well below average of my class on Vulcan. I am in a cohort two years younger than my age to account for this. I keep up only through a great deal of self teaching, finding alternative sources of explanations, and finding niche subtopics that allow me to utilize the creativity that I seem to have inherited from my mother. Creativity is not something Vulcans cultivate so I have done this on my own."

She stared at him. Looked down at the padd. "You are. Below. Average? But you made it to the hardest questions the test had available in just two hours. You were held back in school on your planet? Do I understand you correctly?"

"Yes." Spock refused to feel shame. This place was going to be his home and he wouldn't contaminate it with that part of the past. "Well below average, which is attributed to my hybridity. Although I do not have data to support that theory." As he said this, he realized it was just as likely a result of being of the priest class. The family tradition of teaching the very young strategy board games could be a cultural means of compensating for a lack of innate math ability. His father frequently made a point of his computer rating, but most Vulcans didn't bother to even obtain one, having nothing to prove.

Spock wanted to speak of things that were more productive. He tried to imagine what his interviewer needed to know but perhaps wouldn't ask. "One of the things that attracts me to Starfleet Academy is the option of selecting my own learning modes. I have been reviewing what is available to your students, and while I realize there are more limits placed on first year students, or plebes I believe they are called, I am hopeful that I can tailor something to my strengths. I did not realize until quite recently how very narrow is the methodology of Vulcan knowledge transfer."

She nodded faintly, made a note on the padd. "Fine. Oh, and by the way, we don't officially use the term plebes. It's slightly derogatory and used mostly by older students."

"I see. Thank you for clarifying that."

"Being a plebe has its own miseries."

"I assume this is part of some kind of informal social initiation."

"You would be correct. Good at defending yourself?"

"Quite. My family has an ancient martial arts tradition."

She smiled faintly. "That can be helpful. You can go, we're finished here."

Spock stood, but stopped behind the movable chair, steadying it with his hands. He needed advice about how much to reveal in his application and Kirk was not here to give it, but in order to ask that advice of this woman, he had to reveal the issue. He realized clearly why Kirk drew such power from being willing to lose everything. Spock would not be hesitating now if he used the same tactic. But still, he hesitated until she looked up in impatient question.


	10. Application, Part 2

Chapter 10 - Application, Part 2

"May I ask a question off the record?"

The captain doing the interview pushed the padd aside and clasped her hands before her on the table.

Spock said, "My record, as you see it there, is that and my interviews and tests the sum total of what is used to determine my admission?"

"Yes, that is the sum of what is considered."

"I see. Thank you."

"May I ask why you are asking?"

"Still off the record?"

Her brows went up. "Sure," she said, less than convincing.

"If I may risk offense, I sense you are lying or perhaps reserving your options."

She pulled her shoulders back, sat crookedly with one elbow on the chair back in a pose James sometimes used. "I admit, I am."

Spock composed his next statement carefully. "I was hoping for advice as to how to proceed in future interviews today. I much prefer my question to be off the record, if you can see your way to assisting me."

She rocked back and the chair gave a metallic squeak. "Okay. Off the record. I won't put anything in my notes, but I reserve the right to not recommend you. Fair enough?"

"Yes, thank you. I censored my response to your question about working with humans. I a spent some time on a Starfleet vessel as a contractor, but I do not necessarily want that considered in my package since it raises other questions."

"Why not? And how did you manage that? It says here you are fifteen Vulcan years old."

"You do not recognize me. Which I do not expect will continue as my day progresses."

She tilted her head back, sat forward again. "No I didn't, but I can guess who you are. You must have been that Vulcan on the USS Ranger."

"I am hoping you can tell me whether, in total, that experience helps my application or whether the complication of my being with the Militants disqualifies me outright."

She pulled over the padd again. "I'll say this for you, you are really damn articulate. Most of the humans coming through here sound like they are reading their elementary school chat logs to me. You know Latin and Greek, too?" She sounded sarcastic.

Spock hesitated, but decided it was safe to reply. "Only the ancient languages, not the living languages."

"And you are slow by Vulcan standards?" She shook her head.

"Slow? As in debilitated?" Spock felt the sting of this. It was the first strong emotion he'd felt since departing James' dorm room that morning. "I am in a category of my own. I have skills I cannot bring to bear in a Vulcan environment."

"Creativity. You mentioned."

"Yes."

"Do you have an example?" She sounded like she doubted everything he was saying now.

"When I was assigned to repair the USS Ticonderoga's secondary coolant exchanger, it was necessary to reengineer a working unit from from the pieces remaining after an explosion in the adjoining compartment. This required a great deal of imagination, taking parts and repurposing them into pumps and pressure regulators and shunts, using only base principals of physics, by hypothesizing design options in my head and rapidly optimizing them."

"Did you succeed in getting it working?"

"Yes. It required most of a day with an assistant. I tried to speed up my work subsequently."

"Well then." She gave a wry smile. "Let me try and help you out." She glanced at the padd. "Spock. Even if your record is incomplete now, it won't stay that way. You need to put any security issues to rest, administratively. That means hours of interviews and psych scans down in the dungeons of possibly Federation Intelligence but definitely Starfleet Security."

Spock dropped his gaze and felt his shoulders bunching.

She grew firm and unforgiving. "Don't like that prospect? I'd recommend moving on now."

Spock swallowed hard. "I see."

"You regret joining the Militants, I assume?" She sounded patronizing. Spock wondered at her tone, which could shift so rapidly.

"No."

"No?" Mockery burst from that one word.

"I did it to reveal the Militants' location and to sabotage what I could. When the ships were at their base and planned to remain for a time, I leaked this information to my father, the ambassador, who informed the USS Ranger, who called in three other ships to attack."

She was staring again. "Well. If that's all true, then you should have no difficulty telling your story a few dozen times down in Starfleet Security."

Spock looked away again, his calm had grown slippery.

"If you have something else to hide, you are done. As in finished. Kaput."

"I do not have anything else to hide."

"What's the problem?"

Spock realized something important. His past pain from his childhood was gone, but his fresher pains were not. James had tried to warn him of this too. Applying to Starfleet, joining Starfleet, attending the Academy were all going to raise personal difficulties, sometimes without warning.

She tilted her head expectantly.

"I am somewhat leery of placing myself in such a vulnerable position. Would I be allowed to have a companion with me?"

"I can understand wanting one, I suppose. But you have rights and they will be respected."

Spock looked over her face, the faint wrinkles around her eyes. "Do you truly believe that, Captain? Or are you simply stating that because you wish to believe it?"

She sat back with another squeak. "You are a challenging candidate, you know that? Culture clash I suppose. Yes, I do believe it. You don't? And if you don't, why are you here?"

Spock stood straighter. "I believe in the ideals of this organization. But the stated values of an organization are not always adhered to by all of its members, at all times. And, more so than the average candidate, I am acutely aware of how vulnerable I am. If I cannot have a companion present during any security reviews, I believe your previous advice of giving up is the correct one to choose."

She took up the padd's pen and held it up horizontally, balanced between her index fingers. "You are that afraid? Space is a scary place too." This was delivered factually. Not coldly. Not mocking. Perhaps almost sadly.

Spock looked down at the desk. He didn't want to explain, but needed her fully informed to obtain meaningful advice. "I prefer to consider it proper caution. I was stunned and beaten by security, on the USS Ranger. "

She studied him this time, reviewed his eyebrows, hair, chin. "And you still want to join? Not planning on sabotaging us as well, are you?"

Spock stiffened with offense, and let a tinge of hurt out in his voice, since it was a social signal that he needed to make. "No. I have only ever acted to preserve the Federation. It is the only place where I have the possibility of making a home for myself."

"You are going to have to go through a full review with security and/or intelligence. No way around that. It will be long, annoyingly repetitive, invasive, and stressful. I doubt they will let you have representation with you. But I don't work for them, so you shouldn't leave now, by any means if that's a deal breaker for you. Finish up today and ask in your exit interview to make an appointment with the Academy's head office. Just say you need to discuss extenuating circumstances that are relevant to your application." She sounded sympathetic now. "All right?"

"Yes."

"Anything else?"

"No, that is all. Thank you for your assistance."

She propped her chin on her hand and leaned on it, smiling, which transformed her face from unpleasant to friendly and open. "I have a question for you. You must know James Kirk somewhat."

"Quite well, I believe."

"Excellent. So. He gets around, but he doesn't seem to have a type, really, that he prefers."

The world come into sharp relief around Spock. "Am I correct in perceiving that you are discussing his rumored sexual activity?"

"That's exactly it, my articulate friend. Is he really sleeping with all those women from the feeds?"

"No."

"No?" She laughed. "I think maybe you have a cultural gap at work here. He's out with a different one every week."

Spock thought better of his answer, which had been instinctive. "Perhaps I should have told you 'yes' since that answer would be more acceptable."

"I'd be pleased to hear that he is since I was thinking of looking him up. And you really aren't like other Vulcans if you are able to lie."

"I am not like other Vulcans." He felt enervated. Possessive. He felt different after being intimate with James these last few days. He felt eager for the first time in his life to step into a marriage challenge and put up a fight. Worse yet, he welcomed the idea at that moment and didn't care how uncharacteristic it was because it made him feel twice as alert as normal.

She stood up. Eyes bright with amusement. "I think I've made you angry."

Spock started to speak, but it was again from instinct and he stopped himself in time. He also did not like how perceptive she was able to be.

She put her knuckles on the desk and leaned forward, full of amusement. "You wanted to add something? Off the record?"

Spock centered himself over his blissfully healed core. The new possessive energy was churning around that core, making it even stronger. "James Kirk is not available."

"I thought he and Commander Graham looked like a good match. Even though there was a string of others after. Ah well." She smiled wryly.

Spock's entire body and soul demanded he speak. His upper arms vibrated with the effort of holding back. "James Kirk is mine."

She blinked several times. "Is he?" This caused her eyes to fill with even brighter amusement. "I guess the question is, does he feel that way?"

"Quite."

"I'll be damned. In that case, I have more advice for you. You need to register as such or he's in trouble if you get accepted."

"He intends to do so this week, before I could possibly receive a notice of acceptance or rejection."

"Then you are set. But you better get used to fending women off him. He comes across as highly available on top of highly appealing."

"The second one I am aware of."

She laughed. "You are lit up right now at the mere hint of a rival, so I believe you. Everyone is going to know as soon as the registration is filed. That will make the news feeds exciting for a few days. Better be prepared for that."

Spock looked away, wondering if James already understood that.

"I don't envy you that." She retook her seat. "Well, get out of here. I have to do my share of interviews, not just yours. But I do hope you are accepted. And good luck in the dungeon if that's deemed necessary. And be sure to tell Commander Kirk good job with the rebels for me."

Spock masked his relief at being dismissed. "Captain," Spock said with a curt nod.

She wore a sly smile until he closed the door. The next candidate, a female Andorian, was bouncing nervously from foot to foot in the corridor outside.

"Is she tough? I heard she's really tough."

"Yes, but I believe the right amount," Spock said.

"Oh, dratabat." The Andorian closed her eyes and put her hands together. The tension left her body and she let her arms fall.

Spock knew very little about Andorians and was interested to see this familiar technique. She reached for the door, took a deep breath, closed her eyes again.

Spock gently said, "Tell her what you would want to know in her place to make the same decision. Do not hold back. Do not concern yourself with anything else."

"Thank you." Her antenna bobbed.

Spock gave a small bow of his head in return. "And good luck."

The Andorian sent a glance of surprise over her shoulder, but the door swung open and she jumped nervously and hurried inside. Before the door could close, the captain caught Spock's eye. Spock sensed she'd been watching their exchange and that he'd passed another kind of test.

* * *

"You are later than expected," Kirk had boxes of food out on the table. He came over to the door and slid his hand around Spock's back for a tentative hug.

"It was suggested that I have the deleterious parts of my record fully explained before applications are processed. I went to the Academy head's office to inquire how to proceed. There is supposed to be a decision in the next three days as to whether I am required to be cleared by Starfleet Security or Federation Intelligence, or both."

Kirk had started to pull away, but his arms tightened instead. "I suppose you knew that was a possibility."

"I also was forced to fend off one of your potential suitors."

"Only one?" Kirk smiled with his full charm. "Anyone I know?"

"A Captain Chanel."

"Old Captain Captivate?" Kirk stepped back in surprise. "Really? She was legendary. Maybe still is. She taught at the Academy my third year and didn't even look at me twice the whole time. I never felt so invisible. And all the young bucks who thought twenty three was too old were suddenly swapping rumors about her and putting themselves in her purview."

"I do not find this amusing."

"You don't do jealousy well. I didn't notice that before."

"It was not true before." Spock looked over the food, hoping to move onto a different topic.

"Sorry, I'm not trying to tease you." Kirk appeared to try and suppress his obvious interest and failed at it. "I have to hear this conversation though. You can't leave it at that."

Spock took a seat at the table and began examining the food. "Does your ego require such a boost at this time?"

Kirk stepped around behind him and put his hands on his shoulders. "Spock. What's happening here? I need to talk to you about something important, but let's get past this first."

Spock put down the food box and dropped his arms into his lap. "I do not know. Or I suspect, but I need to assimilate it before discussing it."

Kirk bent and pressed his lips against his ear. Spock closed his eyes and let the sensation soak into him.

"You had something to discuss?" Spock said.

Kirk pulled away, the moisture he left behind chilled Spock's ear. Kirk's tone grew sober, "Yes. We may have a problem."

Kirk sat across from him and began eating as if he hadn't eaten in days. He paused eventually and said, "I tried to register us today, but Starfleet Academy lists you as a minor and below the age of consent." He finished a bite and looked up, locked gazes.

Spock said, "That is unexpected. Why are they allowing me to apply to the Academy?"

"The Academy accepts minors. With permission of the relevant adults in their lives, which you happen to have on file, remember?"

Kirk swallowed, held the box of food and chopsticks in hand. "So. Are you a minor?"

Spock had never considered this question. He had little autonomy as a feature of being born into the family of T'Pau and Sarek. In his experience, his age was never a limiting factor, only his family.

Kirk cut into his silence with, "Questions of physical maturity aside, which I think I already know the answer to, the other age that might be relevant is legal contract age. Are you allowed to enter into a contract on Vulcan at your age?"

"No. I must be 17 in Vulcan years. I will be that age in slightly more than one Vulcan year and a month."

Kirk tilted his head in a way that indicated distress. He swallowed hard, put the box down and dropped the chopsticks on the table. "You've put me in a very bad position." Kirk picked up the chopsticks with sharp movements. "Check that. I put myself in a bad position." He frowned deeply. "Sorry. It's not your fault and I'm an idiot for saying so."

"I am certain that I am in my majority and past the age of consent in earth terms."

Kirk smiled, but it was a painful smile. "You'd think that would matter, but it doesn't. The Academy and the Federation don't consider earth's rules applicable in many cases. In the case of hybrids, they seem to error on the side of the race that matures more slowly. Which, honestly, I agree with."

Kirk put the chopsticks down again, stood up, and began pacing.

Spock steepled his fingers in front of himself. "If I may, by apologizing just now and taking full blame, are you removing my responsibilities and rights?"

Kirk didn't turn around. "Yes."

Spock said, "I do not agree with that."

Kirk turned. He had that bright look of command about him, the one he got when the odds were turning against the ship. "It doesn't matter if you agree or not."

Spock stood and put his hands at his sides, facing a pallet of possible emotions. He blocked them all and found offense trying to battle its way forward. He said nothing.

Kirk said, "I'm in a very bad position given that I'm trying to insinuate into Command's social networks to figure out what's going on, to figure out who is a traitor. One slip to the press of what we are. . . " Kirk pointed back and forth between them. "And I could not only be out of the Fleet, I could be in legal trouble depending on the mood of the authorities."

"I did not realize that."

"I assume you didn't, or you would have said something. Hell, I'm the one who kept saying you were too young." He snorted and paced. "Here I felt like being with you made me smarter. I'm a fool many times over."

Spock had an idea, but did not want to give Kirk unnecessary hope. "In light of that, perhaps I should not remain the night."

Kirk looked down at the floor. "No. You probably shouldn't." He looked up, met Spock's gaze squarely. "And when you see me out with Graham later tonight, getting very cozy, please realize it's cover. I am more than willing to wait for you." Kirk turned away as he said this. Spock sensed it was to hide a loss of emotional control.

Spock stepped close behind Kirk where he stood in a random spot in the middle of the floor. Spock marveled that this man who could command scores of personnel and ships under threat of death could have such a weakness for him. It was not logical, but he did not wish to change it.

"James."

"You all right, Spock?" Kirk asked without turning back around.

"I am quite all right."

Kirk turned partly to him. "Until the issue with your age is settled, if it can be settled, we should limit contact. But if you do get called into interviews with Intel or Security, please let me know. I do want to be there for you before and after."

"During is not a possibility?"

Kirk smiled painfully, met his gaze for a moment with his own deeply affectionate one. "No, my friend. I'm certain it's not."

"I see." Spock had determined to quit if that was the case, but now he believed that unacceptably weak. He could survive hundreds of hours of interviews if necessary. "I will message you," Spock said. "Please continue to be careful and please log who you are going to meet through the secure relay I gave you."

"I will. Thanks Spock."

Spock nodded formally, hesitated thinking there should be something more, but didn't know what, and finally departed.


	11. Influence

Chapter 11 - Influence

It was early morning. Spock had meditated the entire night. "Mother, I have need of your advice."

Despite the hour, he found her at work in the small back office of the embassy that had been set aside for her use. She stood looking over a gift box that had been assembled for a visiting dignitary, a duty that none of the Vulcan staff could be entrusted with.

She smiled with a brightening of her eyes. "There is only one topic I can think of in which I can be of use to you."

Spock clasped his hands before himself. "Indeed. Although this is more complicated than the last."

"How did the previous advice work out?"

"It worked well, Mother. I perhaps should have informed you of the outcome."

"I had a suspicion from you demeanor." She stepped back from her task, copied his posture. "But I am pleased to hear it, nonetheless." When he hesitated, she said, "And now?"

"I need your advice in how to best approach a related difficulty. As you are likely aware, or might expect, it is forbidden for ranking Starfleet members to be involved with Academy students. There is a exemption procedure for existing relationships that is open before one is accepted into the Academy. James attempted to register under this rule and discovered that, as far as Starfleet Academy is concerned and perhaps the Federation itself, I am not of the age of consent."

She tilted her head, eyes widening. "Oops." She masked her amusement. "They don't acknowledge your human development?"

"No. I am given no credit for it."

She touched the monitor on the desk and put herself on Sarek's calendar later in the morning. She said, "Do you want to go to breakfast together? We can speak to your father after."

"We?"

Her eyes grew bright again. The human penchant to find amusement in this topic was aggravating enough to take Spock further out of his control.

Her voice was gentle, which made it more aggravating. "Spock, I can be your advocate on this topic, but not in abstentia."

"I see."

Spock remained quiet during breakfast at the gourmet pancake shop around the corner from the embassy. He was dreading the meeting with his father. It would be full of proper Vulcan evasion of the actual topic, although the alternative of frankness loomed even more horrifying. The topic had not been even remotely referred to by his father since the failure of his second betrothal bond. His father's resignation at that time had left Spock bereft. He would have preferred anger, even punishment. Instead he'd been given up on. That was the state he returned to when he imagined reopening the topic.

"Spock?"

Spock had been moving his fork around in the syrup without eating. "I am not in need of sustenance."

"Trust me, Spock. You'll be better once the conversation is over with."

Spock felt defensive and rather than speak, closed his eyes to center himself. It didn't work as well as it had been. There was indeed still pain there and it was right beneath him now. He had made James vulnerable. And he was about to upset his father simply by forcing the topic to be discussed. But he had outward control of his emotions, which still felt like a gift.

Spock nodded.

The restaurant was divided into heavily padded booths, making it possible to speak in private as voices were kept low and there were only humans nearby.

Spock said, "What do you expect Father's reaction will be?"

"I honestly don't know. But I feel I can steer the conversation as painlessly as possible."

"I hope that is true."

"Sometimes I am surprised by your father's insight into someone's motives when he has only spoken with him or her once and other times I am surprised by his inability to see below the surface of those around him all the time. I do not know what he knows, or suspects about James. He has, of course, not spoken of you and James in personal terms."

"I appreciate your assistance, Mother. But perhaps it is unwise to have your help when I wish to argue that I am old enough to file a Basic Partner Registration as an adult."

"In Vulcan society an advocate is the norm for this topic. One never speaks on their own behalf. It is too difficult to construct the proper remote formal language."

"I see." Spock thought back to negotiations for his betrothal bondings. "I did not realize that was the norm. I assumed I was a special case."

"You are a special case, Spock, by your very nature. But not in that particular way." She sat back and considered him. Sighed. "I am pleased you have found someone to be close to, especially someone as kind as James seems to be. I would not have you be alone, Spock." She stopped abruptly to regain control and straightened her silverware, put her napkin more neatly in her lap.

Spock kept his attention on his plate until her emotions were under control. They would both be better once the meeting was over, no matter how it turned out.

Sooner than he wished, Spock stood just behind and to the side of his mother in his father's office. The embassy had been built and decorated by human contractors so the office was high and imposing, with a shiny grand maroon wooden desk and wall trim. It was far outside Vulcan aesthetics, but it had the proper impact on most all other visitors.

Sarek remained sitting. "I suppose it is a measure of the activity at present that you were forced to put yourself on my calendar."

"I don't mind doing so," Amanda said. "But do need to preface our discussion with a warning that it is of a deeply personal nature."

Sarek sat back, loosely steepled his fingers together. He looked Spock over and turned back to Amanda.

Amanda said, "Spock had requested that you not interfere with his Starfleet application, and indeed he still holds to that, but . . ." Here she switched to the most formal Vulcan possible. " . . . he has need of administrative assistance of another nature, related to the former."

"Indeed?" Sarek sounded less annoyed and more intrigued, like a person finding themselves more in their element than expected.

Amanda straightened, breathed deeply. "Your son wishes to register as personally affiliated with James Kirk before becoming a Cadet, specifically to file a Basic Partner Registration, but the Academy will not allow it." The Standard words stood out like slaps in the middle of the Vulcan.

Sarek looked between them. "And the reason given?"

"Spock is not considered by the Academy to be old enough to be so engaged."

His father thought a moment, also switched to formal Vulcan. "I assume they are using Vulcan's rules. But they should not apply to you. My wife, what is your assessment of James Kirk as appropriate companionship?"

Amanda spoke through forcing down a smile. "He is fine companionship."

"Do you estimate that Spock is on equal footing with him?"

Amanda looked at Spock, who nodded, resumed staring at the floor.

Sarek continued to sit back, looking between them. "I will take care of it."

Spock lifted his head as if just waking up. He didn't move right away. He needed to understand and was failing to. He bowed his head to hide his shock and remained by the desk while Amanda departed. She gave him a curious look as she closed the door.

Spock kept his language as formal as he could while speaking directly about himself. "I am curious, if it is allowed?"

"Curiosity is almost always allowed. To some degree."

Spock almost didn't speak, but he imagined facing Kirk's own curiosity in his current ignorant state and said, "In that case, I am curious why you are acquiescing so easily."

"I have logical reasons."

Spock said, "I was concerned it was the same reason you acquiesced to my joining Starfleet."

There was a long pause. "No. It is not."

Spock spoke to the floor out of respect. "I regret taking advantage of your mood in that matter."

"It was my choice. It is a not illogical fit for you based on your background and skills. I previously overlooked the amount of science Starfleet conducts and trust that you have the backbone to see to it you do not let your work further the development of any means of destruction."

"Of course," Spock said.

"I am also relieved that you have not simply asked to marry James Kirk."

"I do not think either of us has considered that."

"Warn me if you do, please."

Spock resumed his humble pose. "Of course, Father."

Sarek sat forward. "Tell Skeun to collect T'Urun in an hour. I have need of their intimidating presences."

Spock risked raising his left brow. "I will do so."

"Anything else?"

"No. My gratitude, Father."

Spock departed, feeling light, but uncertain, partly due to how unexpected a state it was.

* * *

Vice Admiral Justin, Superintendent of Starfleet Academy, frowned at his receptionist when the man informed him that rather than prepare for a meeting of the board that afternoon, he had a visitor that could not be put off.

The receptionist handed him a padd with an applicant's record already pulled up on it and said that he would let the visitors in. This wasn't proper protocol. The admiral determined when people were let into his office.

It had been a long week. Orientation always seemed to overlap with move out, at least by several days. And the departing upperclassmen were always pulling something designed to make the entire academy look like it lived at the whims of a few hooligans.

An imposing figure in heavy robes decorated with a scrolling language down the lapels entered the office, flanked by two Vulcans with severe haircuts that accentuated their features, one of each sex, tall. They wore the usual impartial expression of their race, but on these two the expression seemed to thinly veil a desire for fate to bring about circumstances requiring a demonstration of a martial art. But that was probably Justin's tired imagination.

The receptionist had told him a name and title, he remembered it just before it slipped from short term memory.

"Ambassador Sarek." Then added wryly, "And company."

The leading, older figure nodded. How was it that humble politeness could exude such a sense of controlling everything around it?

"You'll forgive me. I've just been handed this," Justin said.

"Please," the figure gestured at the padd.

Justin scanned it quickly. He'd seen thousands of these over the years. This one was in the top few percentile, the interviews all recommended accept. But at the bottom was an addition noted by someone in this very office indicating that special reviews from Security and Federation Intelligence were forthcoming and the application was on hold.

"What can I assist you with?" Justin asked.

"My son has applied for your academy, but he has run into a paperwork difficulty."

Justin waved the padd. "I'm afraid you are in the wrong office. I can't help you with Intel or Security if they want to interrogate your son. That requirement isn't determined by this office."

"If he is deemed in need of a security review for his past decisions, that is my son's problem. Spock made his choices and, where he makes his choices, I will not protect him from the consequences. The difficulty I am bringing to you is outside of his control. It concerns your organization's definition of age of consent. He is only half Vulcan but has been classified as maturing as a full Vulcan would. That is inaccurate in his case and needs to be rectified."

"How old is he?" Justin looked down as he said this, realizing it was a stupid question given what he was holding.

"He is nineteen earth years old," Sarek patiently replied. "Close to twenty."

"Sounds old enough to me." Justin scrolled the application. "His test scores are at the top of the scale so he certainly is intelligent enough to be responsible for himself. And he is one of only two candidates in history that old Captain Ironsides Chanel has ever given a highly recommend to." Justin stared at that five star code, wondered if it could be a data entry error, pulled up her notes which were: "Polite as hell, articulate to the point of annoyance, socially aware, knows what he's getting into, tough but kind despite mistreatment, over-qualified, we could put him on a ship tomorrow."

Justin paged his receptionist. "Call down to PRC and have them recode the applicant ID you just gave me as an adult across the board. Verify the change before you get off the horn with them."

Sarek said, "Can you also expedite the filing of a Basic Partner Registration paired with the following Starfleet ID?" He recited an ID number.

"Oh, is that what this is about?" Justin found himself smiling, possibly because no matter what far flung planet or race cadets hailed from they all were at the age where they wanted the same thing. As much drama and chaos as it caused, there was a funny reassurance in that. "Yes, we can have them do that. Both parties will have to sign it before it's official, but we can put it into the system."

The receptionist broke in on the intercom. "PRC is refusing to file the status change citing Vulcan cultural restrictions."

"Tell PRC I have the Vulcan ambassador, the applicants father-one in the same, by the way-in front of me, requesting the change."

"Where is this office?" Sarek asked with that factual humbleness that spoke of restrained power winding up to strike.

Justin said to the intercom, "And tell them I'm sending the ambassador over there if PRC doesn't comply. If the boy's father doesn't object to the status change there is no reason for some desk jockey down there to object. It's not like they have any precedent to back up their refusal."

Justin typed in the Starfleet ID number before he forgot it. It pulled up one Lt. Commander James T Kirk, presently assigned to the USS Ranger. He double checked he'd entered it correctly.

Justin buried his reaction and turned the padd around. "Is this the other individual?"

The ambassador glanced down, nodded.

The receptionist stepped into the office. "PRC has complied."

"Good, make them comply some more. Have them file a BPR with that ID and this one." He handed over the padd. The receptionist also hesitated upon seeing the record, then nodded and stepped out again.

The Intel review suddenly made sense. "Your son was on the Ranger during the battle. I saw those bridge logs. He was exemplary. He didn't even put that experience on his application and he should have."

Sarek said, "Spock has much to learn. He has been made fully aware of that."

Justin thought, I guess that's how you end up with that sense of restrained humble power. Never let the children believe they are good enough.

The receptionist brought in the padd with the Basic Personal Relationship registration file on it. Justin held it out to Sarek who glanced at it and nodded.

"Anything else I can do for you, Ambassador? Any way I can compel you to send us more Vulcan applicants for Starfleet?"

Sarek grew sedate, which clashed with his words. "I am curious if that attitude would be held among your peers, Admiral."

Justin rubbed his forehead. "I suppose it might not. I've been accused of seeking out good students, not necessarily good personnel. My openness to other races might be one reason for the criticism."

Sarek said, "If I might ask, off the record, which of your peers I should seek out for contact. The ones who would be most opposed to more Vulcans in Starfleet, that is."

Justin had the oddest sense that the Ambassador was speaking a roundabout untruth, but the question was certainly valid on the face of it. He sent his receptionist out of the room. "Off the record, I can think of several. Kowleski in Operations, Vice Admiral Pardo in Alpha Quadrant Coordination."

"Do you include Rear Admiral Pritchard in that list?"

Justin rubbed his eye, laughed uneasily. "I wouldn't have thought so. Why do you ask?"

"I am having difficulty setting up a meeting with him and was looking for an explanation."

"He may just be busy, but I wouldn't have thought him too busy for a meeting with you, Ambassador, given events. But I'm just the Super of the Academy, and not particularly attuned to what's going on in 'Fleet itself."

Sarek nodded. "I appreciate your assistance. And the source of my information will, of course, remain between us."

"I expected nothing less. And if your son clears any reviews requested by Intel or Security I fully expect he will be offered a place."

Sarek nodded again, once, like a shallow bow. He did not seem particularly pleased to hear this news. Justin decided he wasn't going to figure out this being before he departed from his office.

"If you need any help, or Spock needs anything-"

"Spock will have to do well on his own from here on. I will leave you to your duties, Admiral."

With another bow, the trio departed.

* * *

Spock traced James's communicator to the a raised trails criss-crossing Bear Island. Spock positioned himself where the boardwalks intersected. He spotted James at the edge of the bay, not jogging, but running full out. His outline moved up and down as it slid along above the railing, the silvery water, and the hazy hills across the bay behind him, hanging at an indeterminate distance. The wind pushed him and the other joggers along. Those going in the other direction were markedly slower.

Kirk came around the bend leading to the long straightaway off which Spock stood on a side deck marked for wildlife observation. Kirk slowed to a jog, then a walk for the last few steps. He bent over, hands on knees, wheezing.

"Are you quite all right?"

Kirk held up a hand, propped it back on his knee again, walked around a bit, hand pressed to his side. "What's up?" he managed to ask.

"I had something to show you. But I did not realize what a disruption I would cause in your exercise."

A pair of joggers pushing a stroller went by in a flash of hot pink and glowing lime yellow. Kirk leaned on the railing, still pressing a hand into the flesh just below his ribs. "It's okay."

Kirk took a few deep breaths and coughed. He stretched his back and stood straight, turned to give Spock his full attention. Spock pulled the padd from his large robe pocket and held it out.

Kirk took it, eyes going over the Basic Partner Registration. "That was fast."

"My father expedited it."

Kirk studied Spock now with the same intensity as he had the form. He did not look as pleased as Spock had expected.

Kirk said, "He's good at getting his way. I guess that's not a surprise."

"It needs your signature."

Kirk pulled the padd back, signed and fixed a thumbprint to the form and handed it back.

Spock said, "My father suggested that you come to dinner at the embassy. He realizes that he needs to get to know you better."

"I'm sure he does," Kirk said.

The sun came out, glinting on and through the fog. "I do not understand," Spock said. Kirk was suddenly as inscrutable as any Vulcan.

Kirk took another deep breath. Dark sweat stains colored his clothing where it stuck to him in the wind. "Yes, I'll come to dinner. I'd be pleased to see your mother again. Your father, I'm sure, is going to read me the riot act."

Spock tilted his head, slipped the padd away. "I did not get that sense."

Kirk pulled on the railing, put one foot up to stretch his back. Spock watched Kirk's familiar muscles shift over his bones, remembered the feel of them under his hands. After half a minute, Kirk stood straight again. Spock put himself back in the present and tried, but failed, to understand the logic that led to Kirk's conclusion about his father.

Kirk said, "I still think we should back off a bit."

Spock felt as if the boardwalk had shifted, the first jog of an earthquake only he experienced. "For what reason?"

Kirk approached, put his hands on Spock's arms and pushed him farther out of the way of joggers going by. "Because, despite the partial paperwork fix, I still messed up here."

Without intending to, Spock knocked Kirk's left arm away and grabbed it up by the wrist, firmly enough there was no way Kirk could break his hold. At Kirk's surprised expression, Spock let go.

Spock trembled, grew more alarmed at his trembling and stepped back against the rail to gain control of himself. He had control three seconds later, but worried at the source of the loss of it in the first place.

Kirk stepped close again. "Spock, I'm not suggesting limiting our friendship." His eyes searched Spock's face and kept searching. Spock had found full control and wasn't going to let it slip again.

"I do not understand your reasoning," Spock said, detached now.

"Look, let's talk about it later. I'm feeling uncomfortable, and probably overreacting. Okay?" He ran a hand through Spock's hair, rocked up on his toes and kissed him. A group jogged by while their lips were engaged.

Kirk rocked back to his heels. "Okay?"

Spock didn't know if he was okay because he didn't know what was happening to him. "I do not like this uncertainty."

"It's not uncertainty. I'll always be here for you."

Spock shook his head. "My father filed the paperwork. That does not impact your thinking?"

"Your father put up a fight over that?" Kirk asked, pointing at Spock's pocket.

"Only a symbolically formal one. It was unexpectedly easy."

"No, it wasn't. He's avoiding a scandal." Kirk sounded so certain of himself Spock couldn't dismiss his words outright, even though they didn't fit Spock's understanding.

"You truly believe that is the reason?"

"Yes. At least most of the reason. But we'll find out tonight at dinner." Kirk put a hand behind Spock's back and stepped out into the walking lane, kept it there as they went.

"I thought you'd be pleased," Spock said after a time.

Kirk spoke factually. "I am. I want to be with you and that filing certainly helps. I expect the Federation would take it as precedent and leave the issue be as well, under normal circumstances, that is."

"Circumstances are hardly normal at this time."

"I know."

"Did I act in error in encouraging my father to do this?"

Kirk thought for many seconds while Spock worried he was far out of his depth and had made a grievous mistake as a result.

Kirk said, "No. If someone wanted to use it against me, they'd have found out eventually. Having it out in the open has it's advantages." He hooked his arm through Spock's. "Come on. Let's get an ice cream and then go to the extraterrestrial aquarium or something. I need a distraction."


	12. Embassy

Chapter 12 - Embassy

Kirk's taxi pulled up to the stone overhang of the embassy. Half a dozen cameras hovered nearby along with three members of the press. A forcefield kept them away from the pull-in, but let the groundcar pass. The filing with Starfleet Academy had made the feeds a few hours before. The tone of the commentary wasn't that Kirk had settled down, just that he wanted to keep his known-to-be-very-diverse options open. Fortunately, they were painting Spock as a rebellious half-Vulcan acting human, not as a confused teen being taken advantage of. Kirk had worried they might latch onto the latter narrative since it certainly was juicier.

Kirk wore his dress golds. He owned two sets now, one with all the medals on the shirt for when he needed to sidle his way up to the top brass at a party. He was glad for the shiny gold and satin striped pants as he toed his way up the carved marble stairs leading to the door. It felt like the proper armor for invading such stodgy architecture. He waved to a shouted question, and gratefully stepped inside.

A staff member or maybe a servant lead Kirk inside to the residence area in the rear of the quiet building. Amanda greeted him kindly and led him all the way to the back, into a den, an earthly room with arched ceilings and molded plaster filled awkwardly with Vulcan furniture.

Spock came in wearing the nicest robes Kirk had ever seen on him. They were fitted perfectly and looked edged in something like black velour that sucked up the light. Spock nodded without expression, and seemed at ease. Amanda offered Kirk a glass of sherry, but he turned it down, raising Spock's brow. Kirk needed to keep every last ounce of his wits, just in case his instincts were correct.

Sarek emerged from another room into their small talk and requested Kirk accompany him to his study. Kirk held a deep breath while he followed down a darkened side corridor to a small room with disproportionately high ceilings. Communications equipment lined one wall, spare padds and communicators were stacked in bins along with spare parts. Sarek went to the desk and sat down. Kirk closed the door behind him and stood on the other side of the desk, arms at his sides. He had faced many superiors who had reamed him out for a variety of things, valid and invalid. But the mere prospect of it happening again, under these circumstances, undermined Kirk more than all of those experiences, even as a fresh-faced ensign with no idea what was happening. His uneasiness irked him. He couldn't make this impersonal no matter what angle he put on it. He resorted to waiting more or less at attention, even though he didn't want to appear to be doing so.

Sarek said, "I have been doing my own survey of Starfleet Command and would like to compare notes."

Kirk nodded. "I have a short list and a long list. I'm still most suspicious of Pritchard. I don't have firm evidence except that it's the simple answer. Or perhaps someone in his office. A Lt. Ducal has been mentioned in contexts that make him suspicious."

Sarek nodded. "I have been trying to set up a meeting with Pritchard and have been unsuccessful."

"I hadn't considered such a direct approach, but maybe it's time to. I can try to set one up and just happen to have you along. I assume you'd make him very nervous indeed if he's our man. Just bringing you through the office during peak hours would be informational."

Sarek nodded gravely. "My assumption as well."

Kirk sighed. "We may be chasing nothing here. But the chase is harmless."

"On the contrary, it is beneficial. I have been using the cover of outreach to Vulcan's most vocal opponents in the Federation and Starfleet Command to do actual outreach. Something I perhaps should have been doing regularly, despite a cultural bias against it, and would not be pursuing with the same vigor without hidden motives."

Kirk nodded. "I'll try and get on Pritchard's calendar. Ranger's crew have been invited to parades in New York and Cleveland and Chicago, and I can use that as an excuse for wanting to see him sooner to get squarely on message for the more local press I'm sure to encounter."

Sarek nodded.

Kirk waited, resisted drawing his lips in. He still didn't know why this felt worse than Captain Grandee dressing him down for forty-five minutes after the Isak VI mission or Commodore Gent dragging him from a hospital bed to give him full blame for Commander Louper's failures at Berengaria. Kirk's heart wasn't running fast, but he could feel it thrumming against his spine.

"And on another topic," Sarek began.

"I know what you're going to say."

"I still insist upon saying it."

Kirk bowed his head crookedly and clenched his jaw closed. He expected Sarek to stand, but he remained seated behind the desk.

"I do not appreciate you taking advantage of my son, but as you well know, there is nothing I can do about it aside from express my dismay to you."

Kirk wasn't sure why there was nothing he could do about it, but he remained silent.

Sarek said, "I did not change Spock's status without believing he deserves to have it changed, just so we have that established. My wife has every confidence in you and wanted me to assure you of that for her own reasons."

Kirk nodded. It did give him some relief. Sarek's accusations were hitting right on the tender bruises left from Kirk beating on himself.

Sarek said, "Spock is at a distinct disadvantage to you that would never had occurred with a Vulcan mate of our choosing. He idolizes Starfleet and therefore you. He has been under your protection and command, reducing his ability to risk offending you by standing up for himself."

The ensuing silence went on for many seconds. Kirk said, "For what it's worth, I'm aware of all that."

"That's something," Sarek said, and Kirk wondered if that quip was a human one Sarek had adopted unconsciously, or if he was doing it consciously and therefore meant it even more mockingly.

Kirk felt his face heating up. He tightened his arm muscles and resisted straightening his back.

Sarek lowered his voice to conversational. "You professed once to reading quite a bit about Vulcans, so I assume you realize how your actions are a trap."

Kirk considered this. He assumed Sarek referred to the seriousness with which Vulcans approached any relationship. He certainly couldn't believe Kirk was trying to draw Spock into bonding with him, not when Spock loathed melding, a critical precursor to bonding. "I don't think Spock is as vulnerable as you think he is."

Sarek made a motion with his chin that conceded that point.

Kirk said, "If you prefer I back off . . ."

"You cannot do that. Or I expect you cannot do that." Sarek steepled his fingers. "Spock and you may eventually grow bored with each other or simply grow away from each other. That is quite possible. But it is too soon for that to happen, especially given Spock's inexperience."

Kirk remembered Spock grabbing his arm that morning. He'd seen Spock's surprise at what he'd done and he'd let go immediately, but the reaction had been instinctual and unfamiliar to Spock.

Kirk said, "Just so it's clear. You don't want me to back away from him?"

"You will confuse the issue, possibly make martyrs of the both of you, so no. Vulcans do things a particular way for very logical reasons. You have upset that tradition. And you have the position of power over the situation. I would prefer you treat it as if you do rather than how you are currently acting."

"I'm trying to give Spock a choice."

"That is a human concept that does not apply. Or perhaps you aren't suddenly experiencing absolute loyalty to Spock as one would expect of a human in this kind of relationship."

Kirk's shoulders broke downwards and the iciness returned. He needed to regain control of the conversation. He stepped forward and leaned on the desk. "I love your son." He gestured with his hand. "I know. Another human concept. But there's not much I wouldn't do for him. Loyalty is just one small thing among many."

Sarek tilted his head as if accepting that point, but he appeared unconvinced. "This situation is at least partly my responsibility. I did not choose well when selecting a betrothed for Spock. I did not understand the issue, even after one failure."

"If you mean my being male, I suspect it's less that then that Spock can't bear anything reassembling a meld."

Sarek's face grew stony. "Perhaps."

Kirk pushed off the desk. "Ambassador, I think we're stuck with each other, at least for a while. What can I do to get on your good side? If is that even possible."

"There are many things about you that I disapprove of, including your willfulness and your career choice."

"You just defined me, sir."

"I am aware of that."

Kirk wanted to cross his arms and stand firm but resisted. "Next you are going to say that you wonder what Spock sees in me."

"No. I know precisely. You are everything he was never allowed to be or have access to. He latently has potential for the appealing traits you flaunt due to his human nature."

Kirk straightened his shoulders as if recovering from being hit. "You think this is just rebellion on his part?"

"It is a possibility that I prefer to entertain, yes."

Kirk tried for charm, but it felt disheartening to even make the attempt. He had a flash of dark insight into how his crew, and all the other strangers who seemed to honor him above his station, would likely view his current floundering state of mind. "Is there anything about me you do approve of, or am I utterly lost here?"

Sarek considered the question at length. He spoke factually. "You are above average human intelligence. I note that in your favor. Relatedly, according to your records, you were a studious cadet. Again in your favor, especially since Spock will be looking to you for advice in this area. But once given responsibility you act foolhardy. Despite great odds against it occurring, you get away with your foolhardiness through some last moment gambit. That is perhaps a credit to you, except you again barrel into the same kind of situation, leading others with you, illogically relying on a repeat of the same long odds being beaten. To a Vulcan, that is most irritating and provoking." He paused, studied Kirk. "That is your professional behavior. As to your personal, when I asked Spock about your family, he said you were estranged from it. I could stop there because that is sufficient to discount you to a clan-oriented society such as ours. I would, in fact, attribute your erratic behavior and correspondingly erratic Starfleet career to said broken clan."

Sarek sat back. His voice was almost melodious. "I could go on."

Kirk felt reckless, as if he needed badly to know how sharp this knife was even if it meant testing it more on his own flesh. "Why not? I prefer things in the open."

"Very well. You have a licentious reputation that you appear to cultivate, in flagrant disregard for the sensibilities of our people. You are boastful in the public eye rather than reserved, again, flagrantly offensive to all things Vulcan. You have a sealed section in your professional record that Commodore Mendez refused to unseal for me. I do wonder what is in it. Something worse than what has apparently not been excised from it, I can only assume."

"It's sealed because it's not supposed to be used to make decisions about my career. It shouldn't matter to you either."

Sarek pushed to his feet less than fully steady. "If Spock does not grow out of you, I will need to know what is in it."

Kirk's hands had gone numb thinking of what was behind the record lock, thinking of Tarsus IV.

"The servants are undoubtedly ready to serve dinner," Sarek said.

Kirk raised his head. He stepped away, walked in a small circle. "Give me a minute."

Kirk breathed in and out, calmed himself. He nodded.

"You consider that ready?" Sarek said.

Kirk rubbed his forehead, stretched his shoulders. "I don't want Spock thinking the worst."

"You don't want him to know that I disapprove of you?"

"I assume he already knows that. I don't want him thinking you were too unsparing with me. You two don't seem to get along exactly smoothly."

Sarek raised his chin. "You are trying to protect my relationship with Spock?"

"Yes, of course."

"That is something I count in your favor, in that case."

Kirk felt his lips twist into a wry smile. "That's something."

Kirk could not find a fully normal mood before entering the long formal dining room. Spock and Amanda scrutinized them both when they arrived. Kirk accepted the offered sherry this time, gave Spock the best smile he could muster.

Dinner was quiet. Spock and Amanda did most of the conversing. Spock glanced repeatedly at his father, then at Kirk. Kirk could not find his way back to sparkling charm. He felt humbled to the core, and it didn't fit him well. But dealing with Sarek was a small price to pay to have Spock. This brightened him enough to let him join the conversation, and after a few very small crystal glasses of moon wine, put the sting of it aside.

At the end of the evening, Kirk still felt his injured pride but he felt noble too. He insisted that Spock to remain with his family for the night.

Spock had followed him to the front door, had insisted the staff stay behind while seeing Kirk off.

"I am certain you would prefer company at this time," Spock said.

"I do, but I want you stay here. Trust me. It's important to avoid provoking your father more." Kirk didn't like the way his voice echoed in the darkened marble rooms.

"More?"

"No secret that he has issues with me, Spock. Come by tomorrow. We'll go out, do something out of town. Get some unfoggy air. Maybe go down to Baja."

"I would like that."

Kirk smiled freely. "Until then. Behave yourself."

When Kirk had left, Spock turned and walked the long shiny hall back to the residence. He composed himself with care. His parents were still at the table but if they had been talking they stopped before he could hear them.

Spock remained standing, waited until the servant took away the last of the glasses and left the three of them alone.

"May I know what you said to James, Father?"

Sarek sat back. "He asked for an assessment, of sorts, of himself. I told him, frankly, what I thought."

"I see." Spock couldn't leave it there. "I wish you had not."

"Your James Kirk commands a starship with enough power to wipe life off half a planet, I don't, logically, expect he could benefit from my approval in any way."

Spock's voice grew fainter. "James has been without a father since the age of eight. I doubt he could be immune to your disapproval."

Sarek raised his right brow and studied Spock more closely. "If so, I still stand by what I said to him."

"Sarek," Amanda said disapprovingly.

Sarek said, "James has a family already, I am certain. He does not need this one as well."

Spock said, "Yes, his starship crew. But at the moment they are scattered."

"If he considers his crew his family, it is even more concerning with what ease he puts them at risk."

"That is what they signed up for. It is assumed the mission is worth the risk."

"Is that what you are signing up for, Spock?"

"Sarek, my husband," Amanda said. "I do not think this discussion is going to be fruitful."

"It is all right, Mother," Spock said, welcoming the challenge. "I wish to have it." He turned back to his father. "I want to do something more than I can on my own. Yes."

Sarek raised a hand and held it out. "You do not have to be on your own, Spock. You have one of the most influential families of your home planet to assist you."

Spock grew more calm to make sure his words had the right effect. "You have that, Father. I have that when it suits you. I do not have that on my own."

"That is because you are too young to understand and wield it."

"Perhaps." Spock bowed his head. "My conclusion has been that I simply do not fit in, but I may be mistaken."

"If you continue cultivating a mentality that is un-Vulcan, you will never understand it."

"I am willing to accept that outcome, Father."

"Perhaps we can call it a night," Amanda said, "now that we agree on something."

"If there is more Spock wishes to say . . ." Sarek put his hands down flat, as if steering the long table.

"I sense a trap," Spock said.

"And there is that." Sarek lifted a hand in Amanda's direction. "Your son's penchant for resorting to humor. Keeping company with James Kirk is increasingly the reason behind your poor control and your inability to understand your clan."

Spock made sure his clasped hands were loose. "Being in James's presence makes me feel at home. I have never felt that before." He didn't look at his mother, but he saw her turn away out of the corner of his eye.

Sarek raised his chin. His words were spoken with precision. "Why did you not go with him tonight?"

"He insisted I remain."

"And you agreed to this?"

Spock hesitated answering. Clearly he had agreed, he was standing there. "Yes."

His father searched his eyes for an answer that wasn't audible. "And if I gave you a good reason why you should not see him for many days, a week even, your response would be?"

Spock felt uneasy. His father was fishing to find out whatever it was Spock's reaction that morning was a symptom of. Spock made his answer casual. "I would obey. But I would have to agree it was a good reason."

Sarek appeared relieved. "Why did James insist you remain?"

"He did not wish to further provoke you."

Amanda's voice was tight. "You must admit, my husband, that James is making an attempt to bridge the gap to you."

"It is a small thing in a much larger picture, some of which is obscured." Sarek turned to Spock again. "Do you know what is in the locked portion of James Kirk's Starfleet record?"

Spock nodded. "Likely, yes."

"You have not discussed it with him?"

"The crew sometimes discussed it amongst themselves when they believed they could not be overheard. I had no reason to bring it up with James."

"And?"

"It is irrelevant to you. It was nothing within his control."

"I do not believe your judgement is broad enough to determine this," Sarek said.

"If James did not inform you, I cannot do otherwise than do the same."

"You are putting him ahead of your family."

"You are trying to provoke me."

"No, I am making an observation. Either James Kirk is more important to you than this family or he is not."

"May I ask why you are making me choose?" Out of the corner of his eye, he could see his mother rubbing her forehead.

Sarek said, "I am not. I am asking for confirmation of my observation."

"Why must everything be sacrificed to this family to remain in it?"

"Because that is what being Vulcan means." Sarek continued despite Spock looking away, "You have become content to see shades of gray where there should only be sound logic."

Spock turned back, "The universe is more nuanced that logic allows for, Father."

Sarek pushed his chair back and stood up. "I am trying not to conclude that you are already lost."

"That would be accepting a shade of gray, would it not?"

"Spock," Amanda said with a tone of warning.

Spock remained as he was as his father departed the dining room.

Amanda sighed, sat back. After a time, she said, "Do you need to meditate, Spock, or would you keep me company?"

"I will keep you company, Mother."


	13. Train Ride

Chapter 13 - Train

Kirk greeted Spock at the door of his dormitory room with a hug.

"Starfleet Security has scheduled me for interviews in three days time," Spock said.

Kirk took his arms in hand. "I'll be traveling, but I'll beam back to take you there personally, make sure you get where you need to be and that I know whom you are talking to and the schedule so I can bring you home. Most importantly, make sure they know I know."

"I would appreciate that."

Kirk squeezed his arms and let go. "I expect this is bringing up uneasy memories. But you'll have interrogation resistance training as part of the Academy. Consider it an early class in it."

Spock nodded gravely.

Kirk said, "If you still feel like going out, I was thinking we could do a bit of hiking along the coastal trail south of here, where it's hot enough even for you this time of year. We can take the train and get the view along the way." He picked up his pack. "I admit, the train is also because my transporter expenses have to be cut back."

"I did not realize that money was an issue."

Kirk secured the last of the straps on the pack. "I don't think you realize how little someone of my rank is paid. Partly because I get free room and board most of the time."

"I can pay if you wish to do something different."

Kirk's upper body stiffened visibly. "I don't mind sharing expenses, but I don't want you paying."

"Given that funds are no issue for me, it would be logical for me to simply pay."

"Logical, maybe. Harmless to my ego, no."

Spock tried to sound affectionate. "Understood."

They were on the train, floating on a maglev rail over the grassy sea cliff. Spock said, "My mother mentioned there was an interview with your mother in the feeds."

Kirk continued to stare out the window. Spock studied him and his reflection in the window. "That's another reason for going out. Avoiding the feeds."

Kirk's face took on a dismayed bunching around the eyes and mouth. Minutes later, he said, "Let me guess, she disapproves?"

"Vehemently."

Kirk laughed. "She and your father would get along."

Spock sharpened his gaze. "I tried to speak with him."

Kirk's eyes went up and down Spock's front. "I don't want you to do that."

"May I ask why?"

"I just don't." Kirk looked out the window again.

Spock dropped his voice even though there was no one in the compartment with them. "Is it because you lost your father and do not want me to lose mine?"

Kirk's face grew dubious, brows raised. "You are trying to grasp human psychology now?

"No, only Jamesology."

Kirk smiled faintly, as part of a different face of amused dismay.

"That might be why I don't like it when you two clash. I don't know." After a minute, Kirk's face grew determined. "I'm glad my mother disapproves. Confirms I'm in the right. Not that I needed confirmation." He looked over at Spock. "I hope you didn't take in any of her poison by looking at the interview?"

"No. My mother merely mentioned it. I sensed she believes some outreach to her is in order."

Kirk made a face of consternation. "That would be something to see. But don't let your mother put herself through that."

"She is stronger than you realize. I am certain she welcomes the idea."

"I believe all that. But it's not worth it. Your mother is a dear woman and doesn't need to waste her energy that way."

Kirk stretched his arms over his head. "What I need is to get back out into space."

Kirk settled back in his seat and frowned. He slipped off his shoe and put his stocking foot up on Spock's thigh. "Not that I want to be away from you."

Spock put his hand around Kirk's foot, pressed his thumb into the arch. He had never held another being's foot before. It felt overly intimate for such a simple thing.

"Maybe we should have skipped the hike. Stayed in," Kirk said in a low sultry voice.

"You are unrealistically oversexed."

"You've mentioned." Kirk smiled more as he said this and Spock understood for the first time why humans sometimes repeated certain phrases. It was a form of private language, one he apparently had an instinct for without realizing it.

"You all right?" Kirk said.

"Yes." Spock smiled with his eyes, which made Kirk smile fully.

"Worried about the interviews?"

"Yes."

"It will be over with soon enough, and you'll have it out of the way."

Spock released Kirk's foot. "Do you have any idea how they will conduct the interview?"

"Not a clue. I wish I did. I don't know anyone who's been through it." Kirk rubbed Spock's shin with the ball of his foot. "I also don't know how to suggest you handle the issue of your brother, if it comes up. I could have filed a report with Intel, but not knowing how deep things go, and not having much faith in them from past experience, I didn't want to expose myself. But you will possibly expose his existence and his powers in your interview."

"My brother's influence on Starfleet is only a theory."

"I know. And I'm likely over-reacting." Kirk clasped his hands, rubbed his palms together in a circular motion. Spock had observed this behavior previously, when Kirk was trying to direct his thoughts. "I see things a certain way and can't always change that."

"My father wished to know what was in the sealed portion of your record."

Kirk's hands froze. His eyes searched Spock's. "Do you know what's in it?"

"I believe I do. Do you wish me to not know?"

Kirk turned to watch the water gliding by out the window. "I don't know. It shapes people's view of me too much. I don't always like fighting it." He looked back at Spock. "How'd you find out? You didn't hack Starfleet records, did you?"

"No, my hearing is more sensitive than most of your crew realize. It was discussed amongst them a few times."

Kirk made an exasperated face. "Oh." A moment later. "What'd you tell your father?"

"That if you did not inform him, I would not either."

"How'd that go over?"

"He accused me of putting you before my family."

"You're an adult. Aren't you supposed to do that?"

"This supports his certainty that you are contaminating me with human ideals."

"If that's the kind of ideal you're picking up, I don't apologize for that."

Spock took up Kirk's foot from his knee and held it in both hands, watched out the window. Kirk did not want him to dwell on Tarsus IV or consider it relevant, so Spock did not. Kirk's strength was different enough from Vulcan strength that Spock could not safely assume he had the ability to assist with any particular emotional injury. The train veered inland and the landscape rose up and dropped down, repeated this stochastically.

Spock pressed his thumbs into Kirk's arch, which made Kirk close his eyes in pleasure. Spock said, "There are many human ideals I prefer."

* * *

Kirk felt the joyous uncaring of the fully fatigued. For once he had a hiking partner whom he could not out-hike, and had pushed himself past his limit and remained there most of the day. The train plummeted back to San Francisco through the moonlit night, feeling like a spaceship overdriving on gravity alone. They again had a compartment to themselves and there were few other riders.

Kirk turned off the lights and sat on the bench beside Spock. He put a hand on Spock's thigh and ran it slowly from narrow knee to hip. His body longed to get to the dormitory, had longed for it all day, despite his desire to get out and moving. He pressed close to Spock, slid his hand up Spock's bare forearm, stroked the soft skin under his arm.

Spock's casual robes weren't fitted close like his formal ones. Kirk slipped his hand farther inside Spock's sleeve, touched firm muscled ribs, teased a nipple. Spock's head tilted back against the headrest. Kirk stroked the grooves between each rib, slid his hand down over rippled abdominal muscles.

Spock put a hand on Kirk's thigh, which was hard still from hiking, grabbed hold with a light touch. Outside, the moon river travelled along beside them like a knife on the water.

Kirk teased farther. Even on Spock that flesh around his thighs was fuller and softer than the rest of him. Kirk ran a finger inside the fold at the seam with his thigh. Spock's breathing sped up, his lips parted. The pressure of his fingertips shifted on Kirk's leg.

Kirk knew Spock would give a warning of anyone approaching. He slid his hand in more boldly.

"I think I have need of you," Spock said, voice breathy.

"Now you know how I feel all the time."

"It is thirty three minutes and twelve seconds to the station. It seems grossly unwise to do anything before then."

"Pretty unwise," Kirk said through a smile.

Spock swallowed hard. After half a minute of further attention, Spock's strained voice said, "This is an unexpected experience."

The train remained silent other than the rush of the air on the shell and the hum of the maglev, no swish of compartments opening, no sudden pressure change as the interlock between the carriages opened and closed. Kirk leaned close to Spock, pulled Spock's head sideways to himself with his free hand, kissed him on the cheek, on the earlobe.

Kirk whispered, "I want you."

Spock made a catching noise in his throat.

Kirk kissed an earlobe again. "I want you and I'm going to stop caring that I shouldn't."

Spock placed his hand on his robe over Kirk's hand inside his robe. "I am quite certain it is acceptable that you do." Spock shook his head.

"You okay?" Kirk asked.

"I am marveling at what we are engaged in. More so that I do not wish you to cease. But also that it is possible to be not only comfortable with such intimacy but desperate enough to risk so much for it."

Kirk released Spock, but Spock held Kirk's hand trapped through his robe. Spock's hand traced out the shape of Kirk's hand through the fabric, matched his fingers alongside Kirk's and pressed his fingers down, firmly, crushing his hand against himself.

Kirk leaned close to his ear again. "You are really keyed up, aren't you?"

"I see many others evaluating you when we are in public," Spock said. "At least one approached you today."

"I sent her on her way right away."

"You responded to her presence."

Kirk kissed Spock's neck apologetically. "I can't help that, no matter how much I'd prefer not to."

Spock pressed Kirk's hand tight again. Kirk wondered that it wasn't painful.

"You are mine," Spock said.

"I am," Kirk said.

Spock turned his head and found Kirk's lips with his own. "You hold back when we are intimate."

"I have to."

Kirk rescued his hand, slid it out of Spock's robe and put it around him to pull him against his chest while he leaned against the side of the train.

"I do not understand. You cannot harm me," Spock said.

Kirk pushed Spock's head down onto his chest and stroked his hair. "It's not hurting you I'm worried about. Exactly. I can't mess this up, so the best I can do is take is take it slow, take cues from you."

"You would not hold back if you were with any other."

"No. Probably not. You are so important to me that I don't know how to find my way except with great care."

"And I do not know how to find my way at all." This was said with clear frustration.

"Taking it slow isn't working for you? I feel like I'm pleasing you."

Spock's low voice floated in the compartment. "You are, more so than I thought possible. It is you whom I fear are not being pleased as much as another would be able to."

"I get it now." Kirk stroked Spock's arm, his back. Patches of clouds began to intermittently obscure the outside world.

Kirk said, "I cherish everything about being with you, including going very slowly. This relationship isn't about sex, although I certainly enjoy having sex with you." He pulled Spock's hair back from his forehead. "Is it becoming more about sex for you?"

"I do not know." Spock fell silent, mouth parted. "Perhaps my jealousy is, yes."

"I don't mean to make you jealous. I can't bear to see you feel anything emotionally painful."

Kirk kissed between Spock's eyebrows, bent his head to kiss the tip of his nose, put his mouth over the end of his nose and worked it with his lips. He whispered, "Imagine I'm doing that to other parts of you." And put his mouth over Spock's nose again.

Spock emitted a small noise of pleasure then snorted faintly as if trying not to laugh. Kirk bent farther and pressed their mouths together. Spock pushed up with his arms to turn his body to face Kirk's and kissed him front on with unusual aggression.

Spock pushed upward more and studied Kirk from above him. By the lightbar outlining the floor of the compartment, Kirk could make out Spock's bangs, his dark eyes. He assumed Spock could see clear as day.

Kirk squirmed under the scrutiny. He had been pressed against Spock's leg, but now his damp body sat in open air. The front of his clothes felt chilled by the gap between them. Kirk lifted his hips invitingly.

Spock's inscrutable face dipped to the side of Kirk's, kissed his neck just above the collar. A finger pulled his collar down, and a kiss fell on his collar bone.

"I need you," Kirk said.

"It is twenty two minutes and three seconds to the station."

"Then the time for the aircar."

"I could pay for a transporter. From the next station while we are stopped."

Kirk lifted his hips again. His body ached in complaint. "Maybe we should do that."

Before the dormitory door swished closed, Kirk was pulling Spock's robes open, putting his hands everywhere on the bare skin under them. Spock's hands were opening Kirk's clothes while burying his tongue in Kirk's mouth.

Spock broke off the kiss. "What do you wish of me?"

Kirk gripped his arms, pressed his lips together.

Spock took Kirk by the upper arms in turn. "James, please instruct me. Why do you hesitate?"

"Because I honor you too much. I feel like I'm taking your pride. It's not something I'm used to worrying about."

"Pleasing you is what I wish, in whatever way you desire."

Kirk slid his hand down Spock's furred chest, rested them on the sides of his ribs. "Okay, I'll show you. Kneel down."

Kirk kept his feet, felt normalcy emerge from the sea of pleasure. "That was really good. Let me do something for you."

The lights came up again as they moved to the bed. Kirk shed the remainder of his clothes, lay back in a seductive pose, one leg bent. "What would you like?"

Spock waved the lights down and lay down beside Kirk, facing him, still in his robe. "I find your touch extremely pleasing. More so when it is forbidden, apparently."

Kirk smiled weakly. "Well, we aren't on the train, but it's still probably not one hundred percent legal by all rules of the Federation, if that helps."

"The rules are mistaken."

Kirk slid over closer. "Still. If you want it to feel forbidden." He raised a sly brow, slid his hand into Spock's open robe.

"I love that sound," Kirk said between kisses on Spock's chest.

"I am learning to appreciate being teased to a state of frenzy. But I am still somewhat worried you will trigger something Vulcan in me if you push me too far into this kind of need."

"Fair warning," Kirk said.

Kirk pulled back long enough to say, "Make more noises."

"Noises are a sign of loss of control."

"Exactly."

After, Kirk fetched a warm wet cloths and gently cleansed Spock's chest. Spock tipped his head back through this process, closed his eyes.

"Like that?"

"Yes."

"Maybe I should get a room with a tub. I could give you a bath."

Spock's eyes snapped open. "In water?"

Kirk laughed. "I don't have that much champagne on hand. Yes water."

Spock's brow remained up in consternation.

"All right. Maybe not." He bent and kissed Spock's newly clean sternum. "I continue to love you."

"I continue to not comprehend."

Kirk covered Spock with the blankets and got up to fetch the padd to order a late dinner.

"You are eating?"

"I'm hungry."

Spock put a hand behind his head and watched Kirk sitting naked at the table to place an order. "I see."

* * *

A/N: as usual the uncut version is at ksarchive and ao3.


	14. Intrigue

Chapter 14 - Intrigue

Pritchard's office hummed with activity. Kirk stepped into the outer office with Sarek in silent tow. Sarek had agreed to leave his assistants behind. Kirk wanted to make a subtle impression, see who rose up defensively. If they made too strong of an impression, anyone would be justified in reacting.

"Lt. Commander Kirk," the receptionist said after barely glancing up. "The admiral will be available in two minutes."

Across the room, someone in Lieutenant's braid, home base insignia, turned and did a double take upon seeing Sarek. Kirk read alarm, fear, more alarm. It was Lt. Ducal. Kirk had looked up his personnel record after speaking with Coyran. Ducal had aged since his annual photo, his face had lost its boyishness to a haggardness, but it was clearly him. He put on an air of officiousness and stepped briskly toward Sarek.

Kirk looked away as he approached, looked up as though seeing him for the first time as he reached the desk.

"What's this appointment?" Ducal demanded of the receptionist.

She read off her screen. "Lt. Commander Kirk to speak with Pritchard about local PR surrounding Midwestern parades."

Ducal stared at Sarek. His mind worked, eyes narrowed.

Kirk said, "The ambassador and I have been discussing much needed public relations. I thought it'd be useful to have him along."

Ducal said, "Odd." He left it at that, then stood on the balls of his feet.

They were paged into the inner office and Ducal said, "I'll sit in."

"Works for me." Kirk turned to verify this with Sarek, who remained inscrutable.

Pritchard wore a looser uniform top to cover a few gained pounds, something Kirk couldn't fault a permanent resident of San Francisco for, given the food.

"Commander Kirk." Pritchard offered his hand. He looked around, looked at Sarek for half a second, looked at the closed door. "Not a photo op. That's a relief. Have a seat."

Pritchard pinned his eyes on Kirk, rocked back in his office chair. "What can I do for you?"

"We have a series of parades coming up. I wanted to know what I should say to the hometown press. What you wanted me to say." He added this to imply that the admiral's staff might tell him something different and that was why he'd ask to speak to him, directly.

"Starfleet always gets the job done. We get the best out of people." He gestured at Kirk with his clasped hands as he said this. "Case in point." He gracefully spread his hands. "The usual."

Ducal stepped up beside Kirk's chair. Kirk could see his hand shaking. "The admiral is very busy."

Kirk looked up at Ducal. "I know that. And I appreciate his time." Kirk turned back to the admiral, who had not looked at Sarek as second time, let alone asked why he was present. "I want to make an effort to mend the earth impression of Vulcan, now that the Militants are mostly neutralized."

"Mostly is the key," Pritchard said, speaking like he was reading a boring report. "We've strategically posted their captured ships to chase them down should the remaining few ships try an attack. We're not getting caught unaware again."

Ducal jerked his arm as if to interrupt, but didn't.

Pritchard went on. "The colonists on the other hand, they surrendered. What's left of them."

"Not quite the messaging I was thinking of," Kirk said, trying to be cute. Ducal's nervousness just off his right shoulder was infecting him.

Pritchard said, "Our mission remains the same as always. Protecting earth. Protecting the core."

Kirk sat fascinated by Pritchard utterly ignoring Sarek. He stalled for time to figure it out. "I think exploration is in that mission statement somewhere as well."

Pritchard sat back, left one arm stretched out across the desk. "Not for a ship like the Ranger."

"No sir. True. But, even so, there is nothing more specific you think I can say with regards to core Federation relations?"

"I think everything that needs to be said has been."

Ducal said, "You have imminent council meeting, Admiral."

Pritchard gave a half smile that spoke of automatic regretfulness. "Yes, well." He stood up and Kirk quickly followed suit. "Well, I'm sure you've already heard it a hundred times, but good work out there, Commander."

"Thank you, Admiral. I'm grateful to you for the trust you put in me giving me a command."

Pritchard nodded abstractly. Kirk let himself be herded out. In the outer office, Kirk spun on Ducal, stared him down. He got stared down in return. Ducal broke their glares to glare at Sarek instead.

"You know the way out," Ducal said, suddenly seeming much taller.

Kirk relaxed into a friendly posture, a move he liked to use to throw off an opponent. It didn't work with Ducal, who was trying to read Kirk's face just as fiercely as before. The room was starting to glance their way, repeatedly. Kirk stepped back, smiled more.

In the corridor, Sarek, hands serenely clasped, said, "I am curious to hear what you learned."

Kirk nodded that they needed to get outside to talk. On the plaza, Kirk stopped and faced Sarek. "Well, something's going on in that office. What'd you think?"

"I have never felt invisible before in quite that way."

"Yeah, that was odd. Was that the response you'd expect from someone under Sybok's sway?"

"No, neutrality is not one of the expected responses."

"Ducal's response was more in line with expectation. Fear. Defensiveness." Kirk looked around the plaza at the clumps of people in matching uniforms, walking, standing in small groups. People wearing different colors didn't seem to mix much. "I'm going to confront Ducal away from the office. I think that's the next step."

Sarek nodded. "Logical."

"Hazardous too. He's only a lieutenant, but that doesn't matter when you have an admiral's ear."

* * *

Kirk stepped onto the Ranger's darkened bridge. He thought he'd feel better coming here, but he felt like an invader. The ship should be busy, should be on a course, have a purpose. It felt like an electronic tomb. He greeted the skeleton crew at the two front stations and sat down at the comm board. He'd set up searches of the orbit logs for Tellarite flag vessels, but same as last time, none were the right tonnage, and base tonnage was one of the few things that was difficult to change about a ship.

He searched the database for all flag ships that were the right tonnage and thousands poured onto the screen, just from the last few hours. He tried narrowing by various parameters, tried narrowing by incoming course, which took longer to compute.

While the computer worked, he pulled up the full personnel record of one Lt. Reginald P. Ducal but only from the ship's data banks to avoid having the search be traceable at command. His home address was likely still correct.

Gall stepped out of the lift. "Commander," she said in pleasant surprise.

Kirk felt the pang of being groundside harder than he had since arriving on earth.

"Ensign."

"Can I help you with something, sir?"

Kirk closed out Ducal's record before she could read the board's screens. "I'm trying to find a particular ship."

"You have the registry?"

"I do, but it's not showing up."

"Then it's not in the Federation core."

"I'd be pleased to hear that."

Kirk checked the registry number and entered it again. It pulled up the ship's information, which read as clean as Spock said it would, free to move anywhere.

"That's the ship?"

"Yes."

Gall bent over the board. Kirk stood and let her have the chair.

"This data goes back. You've been looking for a while."

"I have. I'm assuming they've changed the registry, so I'm using every other metric possible."

Given that Spock was now a public figure, Sybok must know he was a traitor to him, that he needed to mask his old identity.

"What's this?" Gall asked of the other processes on the screen.

"I know some other likely ports for the ship that are somewhat unusual and tried to estimate approach routes to the core to further filter. It's so much data even the ship's computer chokes with no other load. It's an n to the fourth problem."

Kirk sat back against the powered-down board beside comm, leaned forward to watch the numbers churn. "Are you going to join us for the parade tomorrow, Ensign?"

"I am for Chicago, since some of my family can attend, but otherwise, no."

"It's going to be mostly male crewmembers. Bad for recruiting."

She looked up at him. "You are making me feel guilty, sir."

"Wasn't my intent."

"That's why I signed up."

"You saw a parade?" He fell easily into charming tease mode and didn't feel like censoring himself.

"A female crewmember of the USS Hancock came to my school to give a talk." She called up screens with the orbit permission data sorted various ways. "Does the record from the registry contain accurate data?"

"Yes."

"I can look for this ship for you, sir. I'm sure you have better things to be doing."

Kirk crossed his arms, rocked forward. "Actually, I don't."

"No date tonight, sir?"

"I do, but later." Kirk said, joking privately about stalking Ducal. "I'd rather be busy to kill time until then."

"Who is it tonight, sir?" she sounded pleased to be teasing him.

"Who do you want it to be?"

"I have a substantial bet with Toyvan that your last date before we ship out will be Overlander. I think you're good for her."

Kirk must have made a face, because she said, "No?"

"She pulls rank on me too much."

"Oh. Sounds like I might lose my money."

"Doesn't mean she won't be the last before we ship out. That would be one way of making a point, wouldn't it?"

"A cruel one, sir." She took a moment to re-evaluate him.

"So you are saying I should choose someone else."

"Oh, now that's a tough choice." She worked the board for a while. "I like Commander Overlander. I hope she gets a command again. I guess they're worried about the reliability of her cybernetics, which aren't self-repairing. As if we humans are all that reliable, and it's not like we can grow back a limb without help any more than she can."

"She's fighting the rule. Not sure how successful she's going to be. On a ship this size, every officer is mission critical personnel. They don't bend the rules much in that circumstance."

"Larger ship, maybe?" She brightened as she said this.

Kirk couldn't hold back his grin. "You like larger ships?"

"I'd like to be on a larger ship, yes. But I don't have much hope. With action winding down, there will be many fewer slots."

Kirk had no idea how her skills stacked up against the rest of Starfleet. "Apply. See what happens."

"Trying to get rid of me, sir?"

"No. But I don't want to hold anyone back either."

She returned her attention to the board, blushed. "Kind of you, sir."

"I'd hope that was the norm."

She shook her head. "No, sir."

There as an awkward pause. Kirk said, "Well, you should apply for a reassignment if that's what you want."

She blushed harder. "Thank you, sir. I'll consider it."

Kirk pushed away from the powered off board he'd been leaning on. He had the sense he'd talked her out of transferring by trying to talk her into it.

* * *

Kirk stood in the foyer of an average apartment building in the Tenderloin. A computer concierge controlled the building's entry, and he informed it whom he wanted to visit and it informed him that he'd have to wait while that person was contacted. Kirk suspected that he wasn't home.

Ducal came in five minutes later, looking very domestic in a trenchcoat, carrying a cloth grocery bag, with three security guards trailing him. He stepped in, looked up at Kirk. His eyes didn't have to get hard; they were already hard.

"What are you doing here?"

The guards responded to this by putting hands on phasers and stepping to where they had a clear shot. They'd initially relaxed upon seeing Kirk's uniform.

"I need to talk to you."

"I don't have anything to say to you." Ducal sounded derogatory, which wasn't what Kirk expected.

"It's important."

"I'm sure you think it is a matter of life or death. But nevertheless. I have no good reason to talk to you and many good ones to not do so."

Kirk fingered the hard copy photo of Sybok he had in his pocket. This made the guards stiffen.  
"I'm not armed. It's just this." Kirk pulled out the photo by the corner, but kept it facing away. To Ducal, he said, "What could be the harm in talking?"

Ducal looked around the empty foyer as if expecting someone to be there. "You really alone?"

Kirk shook his head to indicate his confusion. "Yes. Why do you have three security with you?"

"That's my concern."

"Why don't you just beam directly to your apartment?"

"I prefer to pretend I have a normal life, thank you." He stepped forward. Two of the guards stepped quickly forward to lead the way.

Kirk held up the photo of Sybok. "Do you recognize this Vulcan?"

Ducal stopped before the lift and turned, looked at the photograph after staring derisively at Kirk. "No. Should I?"

He turned away. Kirk recognized the bent neck of a dutiful man under long-term strain. The lift arrived. The guards flanked the door before it opened. One of them checked inside it. The third kept his hand on his belted phaser and his eyes locked on Kirk.

"I need to know what's going on," Kirk said.

Ducal had started to turn away, but this made him turn back. Kirk got the same look he expected he was giving Ducal, that of guarded confusion.

"You keep company with the Vulcans," Ducal said.

"Of course I do."

"Then we have nothing to discuss." He stepped into the lift.

Kirk stepped up to the lift door and found himself facing down a phaser. He rolled his eyes, put his hands up casually.

Ducal spoke from inside the lift. "I can have you dragged to a Starfleet pen, Kirk. In a heartbeat."

"I'm due to be on a parade float oh seven hundred tomorrow morning in New York City. I'd love to explain to some brass why I'm not able to follow those orders. I'd love to get all the brass in one room and hash this out."

Ducal's brows twitched together, confused again.

"Talking to you at all is a bad idea. I'm an idiot for even starting." The doors closed. The remaining guard outside the lift still held his phaser trained on Kirk.

"That's on stun, right crewman?" Kirk said in his best commander tone.

"Yes, sir."

Kirk stepped back and lowered his hands, stared at the closed lift doors. Sighed. "Damn."


	15. Parade

Chapter 15 - Parade

The morning air was crisp. It matched the bright snap of the banners. Kirk's footsteps thudded on the hollow platform of the float as he inspected it. He stopped by the front pole which held up a large glittering star. He was glad the float was a dreamy space theme rather than an attempt at a starship. One-by-one, the crew stepped over and greeted him formally then retreated, even Riley, who had bounded up the wheeled steps two at a time to get on, rocking the float. His new medals flapped on his chest, glittering nearly as much as the satin on his dress uniform.

Things settled down and ahead of them. Floats blocks ahead started to move. Kirk shifted over to where Riley was looking through red cloth bags of something. He looked up. "They gave us candy to throw? Want a piece, sir?"

Kirk took the offered square of caramel. He'd become unaccustomed to Riley's exuberance and tried not to bristle at it.

"Having a good leave?" Kirk asked him.

Riley held an unwrapped candy near his mouth. "Yes, sir. Family's really proud. I've been around to see every relation, even really distant ones. You sir?"

Kirk watched Chapel board the float with some surprise. He wouldn't have thought she was the type. Kirk said, "I'm ready to be back in space, I'll confess."

Riley stood up, balancing easily as the float rocked. "We have orders, sir?"

"Not yet. I expect to, soon."

Riley nodded as he chewed. "I hope it's a little longer. This has been the best leave. I've met so many people who seem interested in my career. My dad says you can't have too many friends high up."

"That's probably true," Kirk said, unable to put feeling behind it.

"Have you seen Captain Garrovick, sir?" Riley asked.

"Not since the party on the Potemkin."

Riley dropped his gaze, moved one toe over the wooden platform. "He had me for dinner at his house. Said I have a great future. That I might have a place on the Potemkin if I kept doing as well as I have been."

Kirk put on a smile. Riley had a long way to go before he'd be adept at being an officer on even a small ship. "You seem to have a knack for PR, and that's rare."

"You think that's what he wants me for? Does Potemkin have someone handling PR?"

"There are a lot of officers on a Constitution Class ship." Kirk left it at that.

Riley's eyes glittered. "Starfleet is a great place. You do your part, and you move up to bigger things."

Toyvan stooped between them to grab up a handful of candy, pieces fell onto the deck. "Sir," he said, trying to unwrap one with his hands full.

"Enjoying your break, Mr. Toyvan?"

Toyvan's face closed up. "Ready to be back at it, sir. Only doing a parade because it's better than another day with the old friends who seem like strangers."

"Understood," Kirk said.

Riley looked around them, chin high, rocked up on his toes. "I've loved parades since I was a kid. You sir?"

Kirk was transported back to a Fourth of July parade with his father. He could barely picture his father's face, only the uniform cuff, the minute sparkling of the weave of the fabric, and the braid. He'd been proud of that braid, was certain it held the meaning of everything.

"I don't really remember going to any," Kirk said.

"You missed out, sir. Vice Admiral Grace in External Affairs told me it's the best outreach Starfleet has after keeping good news on the feeds." Riley blushed. "She called me in after I did a bunch of interviews at home. Told me I was unusually telegenic and outgoing."

The float shifted as the stairs were pulled free.

"You are that, Lieutenant."

Kirk figured out why there were so many railings and poles. The float tended to surge and rock on its suspension. He stepped over to a pole hidden in white curly paper. His crew retreated to others, leaving alone at the port bow of the vehicle. People lining the road ahead were pointing, holding their hands to shade their eyes. The sounds of brass instruments floated on the breeze, growing louder and fading again.

The crowd quickly became a blur, even when Kirk tried to pick out individual kids, meet them in the eye. An announcer beside a bandstand introduced them in ridiculously grandiose terms, eliciting a cheer made shrill by small voices. Somewhere in that crowd could be someone just like himself, needing that one little push of inspiration. He sought out more young eyes, waved back when he caught a set.

* * *

Kirk beamed from the post-parade picnic in a corner of Central Park directly to the plaza outside Starfleet Security HQ, a windowless fluted tower with a half-moon footprint set in a sea of concrete. Spock approached, hands clasped before him, robe catching in the wind.

"Ready?" Kirk asked.

"Yes. As you have said, good to get it over with."

They walked together across the expanse of gray-white, broken up by interlocking triangular seams between the slabs.

"Starfleet does full review out here twice a year," Kirk said. "It's quite a sight. As a cadet, you'll get to experience that."

Kirk kept up with Spock's rapid pace only with effort. "You're not late," Kirk said.

Spock slowed, turned to him.

"It's going to be all right. I'll raise hell if it isn't."

Spock tilted his head in acknowledgement but his expression remained stern and distant.

Inside, they were told to report to Lt. Mather, who came to the lobby to meet them. He was a wiry man of above average height who had his brown hair shaved in a flat top. Kirk tried to not assume the hairstyle meant he held the same attitudes as Ranger's former security chief.

"I'll take him from here," Mather said at the lift, in a tone that implied Kirk had been ordered to perform this escort and could report he'd handed Spock off.

"What time will he be finished?"

"That's variable." Mather held the lift from leaving without them with a hand in the opening.

Kirk continued with the official theme, trying to make it sound as if he'd been ordered to keep track of Spock. "What time is it convenient to come check his status in person?"

Mather looked off into the distance. "Fourteen hundred should work. We take lunch at thirteen hundred thirty. If we are continuing after lunch that will be before we resume."

"I'm holding you to that. Fourteen hundred."

"Of course," Mather said, as if all of this were entirely routine.

Kirk reached out a hand to squeeze Spock's upper arm. He felt frantic leaving him here, but buried it. Certainly he had personally ordered those under him into far worse situations. "I'll be back for you."

He stepped back and watched Spock enter the lift, head bowed, shoulders lowered. The lift closed.

* * *

Spock's perception was that the lift didn't move, but the indicator flashed and the doors opened onto a featureless corridor. Mather gestured for Spock to go ahead of him. Outside the lift a bulky-shouldered guard waited, phaser on his waist. He kept back from the two of them enough paces to have time to react to anything untoward.

They stepped into a room with only a table and two chairs, but strangely lit by the floor itself with a blue-white light. The muted seam at the edge of the glowing floor gave one the sense of walking on an infinite flat plain. The guard remained by the door, feet apart. Mather stretched his neck side to side and took a seat. He asked Spock to put his hand flat on the table and identify himself. The table lit up, outlined Spock's hand in white light.

"Why do you think you are here?" Mather asked, sounding like he had better things to be doing.

"I wish to join Starfleet but there are questions about my loyalty."

"And you feel those questions can be put to rest?"

"I do. But that is from my perspective. I am considerably less familiar with your organization's perspective."

"You joined the Militants. How did you do that?"

Spock explained, starting from the first messages he had received over a year before, testing if he had been interested at that time.

"Why would this old classmate think you were a likely recruit?"

"I have been subject to an ongoing and incorrect assumption that I am incapable of identifying with mainstream Vulcan ideals. Since I have always been treated as an outsider, they believed me one of them since the Outliers are outsiders."

"You turned them down at the time."

"I ignored the messages. I had no interest."

"Did you turn the messages over to anyone?"

Spock looked down. "No. Unwise, perhaps, but I was concerned that simply receiving them would indicate complicitness. But the messages gave me an easy way to contact them later."

Spock described how he'd forged his travel records to get off planet, that he'd been met by his brother on Gatling Outpost. This was news to Mather, who touched the tabletop to review some things.

As he looked over information that wasn't visible from Spock's angle, he said, "Why didn't you simply join through your brother in the first place?"

"I was not aware of his association with them at that time. I knew nothing of his whereabouts."

"He knew of yours." Mather looked up, stared Spock down.

"Apparently."

Mather said, "Tell me about him."

Spock described his brother's background on Vulcan, downplaying his own interactions with him. He described accompanying his brother as he travelled about from one outlaw port to the next. He intimated that his brother had strange tastes in illicit activities without giving details of them. He gave Mather the ship's registry, which Kirk had said no longer came up in the databanks of any core ports.

"Your brother sounds pretty rogue. No wonder Vulcan threw him out. Tell me about the Militants or Outliers as you seem to want to call them."

"I used my brother's influence with them to position myself well with them. The difficulty was getting my brother to agree to my joining their fleet instead of accompanying him. I eventually did convince him."

Spock spent an hour explaining how he'd acted the part of the less intelligent half-breed, had gradually managed to sabotage the Militant ship in preparation for having the fleet ambushed. Through it all Mather called up records, asked for clarifications that made it clear he had technical information about the salvaged Vulcan ships in front of him to corroborate. As Spock's story was confirmed, Mather seemed to relax.

Spock explained about trying to give himself up when the ship was boarded by Ranger's security, and being stunned and waking up in the brig.

Mather cut him off. "I have the records after that point from the Ranger. So, you knew Lt. Commander Kirk from before this. Your father messaged him specifically, rather than calling on a more reasonably sized class of ship for the mission. Why?"

"My father had no relationship with the captains of any of those vessels. That is how my father works, with relationships."

"How does your father know Lt. Commander Kirk?"

"My family's private ship rescued him from Wolfram Thesus V when he was Missing in Action after the USS Sanchez was captured." Spock didn't have to work hard to mask this incomplete truth, and the table continued to pulse normally around his hand.

Mather spent a long time flipping through data on the table. "The official records referring to those events are strangely sparse. That likely was Coyran's office's doing, and he's under house arrest."

"Lt. Commander Kirk arrived at my parents' estate on Vulcan on my family's private ship. I am quite certain he was on my family's ship getting there."

"Why wasn't he brought to earth?"

"This was at the height of tensions with the Federation. My father didn't want to risk the ship being embargoed."

Mather's brow lowered. He was otherwise quite practiced at suppressing his expression. "There are no flight plans filed for any of this. Why was your family's ship in the vicinity?"

"I am not privy to that. There is a servant who pilots the ship." This was Spock's first serious falsehood, but the table around his hand remained normal. Perhaps it always did, and the display was different for his interviewer.

Mather rubbed his eye. "Why were all these records wiped, or excised, or put under a lock Security can't override? Or something. This is really strange. These records shouldn't be secret." He huffed. "So, for some reason, your family's ship is near this system where the Rebel Colonists had laid a trap for the USS Sanchez."

"If I may. I do not believe the ship was very near. Lt. Commander Kirk was rescued from the planet after well over a hundred hours of survival mode." Spock almost made the mistake of being precise about the time, because he knew to the second how long, but if he learned this from Kirk's story, he would only have vague information.

"With a hand communicator, he managed to contact a ship that distant?"

"Our family ship has highly sensitive communications. And atmospheric effects can act as a lens. I assume you have experts to better provide an explanation for this. Perhaps my father's pilot received a distress call from the Sanchez and re-aimed the arrays or changed course. I am sorry I do not know these details."

Mather looked down at the table for a while. "It may not even be relevant. Except censored records and coincidental events make us nervous."

"Understandable."

"How long was Lt. Commander Kirk at your family's estate?"

"Five days, two hours, and forty-three minutes."

"That's precise. Did you get along well?"

Spock kept his head down, found himself vaguely embarrassed to admit the truth. The Vulcan context of propriety still seemed to apply to things that had transpired on Vulcan.

"Quite well."

"Do you become lovers at this time?"

Spock flowed with this question that was certainly meant to rattle him. "No. Not at that time."

"When did you become lovers?"

"On the USS Ranger. Would you like the stardate?"

"And the precise time to the second. No that's not necessary." Mather exhaled. "You are recently registered as partners with Starfleet. You seem to assume you'll be accepted into the Academy."

"I do assume that. But as I stated at the outset, I do not have the right perspective to apply to make an accurate estimate of the likelihood. I reached that conclusion after applying my own perspective, which is that I am loyal to the Federation and therefore there is no issue."

"Yes, you said."

Mather asked about the Ranger, asked again about sabotaging the Vulcan ship as if to trip him up. Spock patiently explained again, using simpler terminology.

"I understood the technicalities the first time."

"I was not certain why you were asking again. I have an eidetic memory. I can repeat the same words exactly if you prefer."

"Don't bother." Mather sat back yet again. "So, you expect us to believe you are personally responsible for the discovery of the Vulcan Militant base."

"I suppose that, yes, I have that expectation."

Mather crossed his arms, ignored the table and addressed Spock directly. "Why do you expect that?"

"I am a Vulcan. Facts presented are generally accepted as such when they are supported by evidence and one can debate what conclusions should be drawn from said facts, and I feel able to hold up my side of said debate in this matter."

"For someone savvy enough to get away with doing what you did, this self-assigned espionage, you strike me as incredibly naive."

Spock tried not to hesitate in responding. "Naive in what way?"

"Your expectations of success were incredibly naive. Your expectations about how you would be treated now are incredibly naive. You were on the Gatling Outpost. You were on Kilpanav Refugava of all bloody places." The man leaned forward, pointed at himself and swept his fingers around to point at the walls. "No one in this building has been there."

"It was not by choice."

"What'd you do there?"

"My brother shopped for a slave. Purchased a Romulan."

"Sounds like an interesting guy. Where is he now?"

"I do not know. I have not had contact with him since joining the Outlier ship."

"Sounds like someone we should be keeping an eye out for."

"I assume that someone, as you say, has been keeping an eye out for him. Vulcan made it clear to the Federation why he was exiled at the time of his exile." Spock had double checked this with his father last night. The wording was unusually harsh and transparent for a Vulcan report about a sensitive topic.

"So, you left your comfortable, nurturing, according to what I can find, wealthy home to join a band of violent misfits with the intent that you would damage them in some way?"

"Yes. I did not want a war that would change everything about life on my planet. Vulcan had already been attacked once. The recency of that event made further violence more conceivable."

"Think a lot of yourself, do you?"

Spock considered this, wondered if he should answer the actual question or the intent behind it. "I have been accused by my father of not knowing my place, yes."

Mather snorted faintly as if amused.

"What's your father think of you boning Lt. Commander Kirk? Family like yours, that can't go over well."

"If I interpret your colloquial phrasing correctly, I would submit that the question is outside the scope of your information needs for the purpose of determining if I am suitable for Starfleet."

"You come from a long line of lawyers?"

"Priests."

Mather's brows came together. "What do Vulcans worship?"

"We don't. We have temples to retain ancient rituals and priests and priestesses to hone the disciplines of the mind."

Mather put his feet up on the table and sat back. "Didn't want to be a priest?"

"It was not a possibility given my heritage. Temples esteemed enough for my family are incredibly strict about banning outsiders."

"Your father must have been pretty rebellious too, marrying a human."

"I would not consider him so."

"Sons your age rarely do. Reading his file, the diplomatic missions he's volunteered for, I'd label him rebellious. You ever read your father's file?"

Spock felt more uneasy discussing this than discussing his brother. "Not straight through as you likely did."

"I couldn't consider him a traditionalist. Let's put it that way."

"I have experienced nothing but a strict and traditional Vulcan upbringing."

Mather crossed his arms, bounced his foot. "Well of course not."

Spock looked away to put his thoughts together. "I do not understand. I also do not understand the relevance of this discussion."

"Your psychology is highly relevant. Ordinary citizens don't join rebel groups with the intent of sabotaging them."

"Ordinary citizens do not join Starfleet, either."

Mather smiled faintly. "True. But there isn't necessarily an overlap between those two."

Spock bowed his head. "A fair point."

Mather sighed. "At this point I'm stalling. I've been instructed to hold you here."

Spock reacted with mild surprise, quickly muted. "Have you completed your questioning of me?"

"I have."

"May I hear your conclusion?"

"I told you already. You are incredibly naive."

Spock raised a brow. "That is your conclusion?"

"Yes."

Spock clasped his hands. If that was in total, that was a positive outcome despite the insult. "I see."

There were indeed no more questions. Spock tried to enter stage two meditation while they both waited. It seemed highly unlikely he'd be subjected to violence, but in the silence he found the memory of arriving on the Ranger trying to replay in his head more times than was logically required.

"Nervous?" Mather dropped his feet to the floor and sat forward. "Put your hand on the table."

The halo around Spock's hand had a faint pink tinge.

"Interesting. What's up?"

"I was thinking."

Mather leaned farther forward, chin out, his eyes darted between Spock's. "Yeah. About what?"

"About my poor record of personal safety when in the hands of Starfleet Security."

Mather sat a little straighter, appeared distant. "Oh." He sat back again, knees apart. "You can take your hand back. If it makes you feel better."

Spock clasped his hands before himself again.

"You are going to have to get over that. On a mission, security has your back."

"I am aware of that." Spock thought of Hully and the reaper token and found it easier to relax into light meditation.


	16. Coercion

Chapter 16 - Coercion

The door to the interview room slid open and a tall man with an inhumanly broad chest clad in an undecorated off-white jumpsuit strode in accompanied by a slightly chubby human woman with straw-like hair. The man nodded at the woman, who waved a Feinberger in front of Spock. She showed the readout to the man.

"Jackpot," the man said.

Mather stood up, put his hands on his hips. "You taking him away?"

"We'd prefer to work here." He gestured at the woman to get something. She returned minutes later leading a long cart draped in silvery fabric.

Mather eyed the cart. "You have authorization for a full interrogation?"

"I do, Lt. Mather," the man said. His dark hair was swept back along his head in a way that made pieces of it flip forward when he bent down to pull out equipment.

Spock stood up, looked between the three of them, measured the distance to the door: five point eight one meters. The time was eleven hundred fifty four. Two hours before Kirk would arrive.

Mather's voice rose in pitch. "You specifically have authorization to do this in this facility? Because I'm pretty sure you have to check him in at your place to do this."

Spock shook his head at him. Mather seemed to remember his words to Kirk that morning and calmed down. "Fine. If you are doing this here, you use our consent forms."

"Fine," the man said in a sing-song.

"Sit down, Spock," Mather said. He tapped the tabletop. Spock remained calm externally while unease charged the nerves of his gut.

Mather filled out a form on the table screen and said to the man, "Oplack, you sign."

"You don't want to sign it?"

"I'm not responsible for what you are doing, so no."

Oplack fixed his hand print to the form, went back to his equipment.

Spock read the form, which specified disclosure far more than limitations on anyone's behavior. But it did provide an out for him, that he could order them to desist at any time. "What do they intend to do?" Spock asked Mather.

"Intel doesn't tell anyone in Security what they are doing. You'll have to ask him yourself."

Spock turned to the man, to his strangely pale gray eyes, so light he could map the texture of the surface of his irises. "What do you intend to do?"

Oplack had powered up what appeared to be a blood filtering unit. "Verify that you are telling the truth."

"Using that?"

"And some other things."

"I believe the form requires disclosure."

"After you've agreed to it, it does."

Spock turned back to the form. His father's words from that morning indicating that he must unswervingly face the consequences of his choices as a reflection of being properly Vulcan were at least part of the reason he fixed his handprint to it.

Mather filed the form, zoomed in on the file number, possibly so Spock could memorize it. "He can steamroll your application. If you want into the Academy, you don't really have a choice but to play ball with him. Sorry."

Spock also memorized Oplack's face. It was either partly non-human or surgically altered. Perhaps both his face and his body were surgically altered.

Oplack pulled the second chair around the table and put it down facing Spock's, sat in it, leaned forward eagerly, lips wet. "So, you joined the Militants and now you want to join Starfleet."

Spock couldn't find a James way of handling this. He fell back on a Sarek one. "I made my statement over the course of the morning. Have you familiarized yourself with it?"

Oplack looked beyond Spock, at nothing. "I'm familiar with pretty much everything. You are going to help us out and we're going to help you out. You comply with my instructions and I can see that your record reflects that you will be a happy little Starfleet officer someday. How's that sound?"

Spock kept his uncertainty locked away. He tilted his head. "You are an altered human."

"That's not part of the game, my boy." He stood to power on the row of medical equipment stacked on the cart. "Wire him up."

The woman bustled over to Spock with a handful of biosensors. "Remove your top."

Spock said to Oplack, "You were going to disclose your intent."

"Not our intent, never our intent. We will disclose our procedures. We are going to hook up some monitors to be certain you remain unharmed, then we are going to try an experimental compound, of sorts, on you, and then we are going to ask you a few questions and see how you respond." He sat down again, hands hanging between his knees. "Given how easily you can naturally fool our computer with lies, you must admit, it's only fair for us to use some other means to determine the truth of what you say."

Spock wanted to look to Mather for advice, but resisted. He had little basis to trust him either.

Oplack said, "This is very simple. You want to convince us you are telling the truth. You comply."

Spock said, "But I sense that you are lying."

Oplack pulled his head back, grew still. "Why would that be a lie?"

"I do not know. But I sense it is a falsehood, of some sort. And you are required to disclose-"

"Our procedures. Which I did."

"What is this compound?"

"That's a secret. We're going to hook you to a blood filter first, which will have to be calibrated for your hybrid blood, then we're going to introduce a very small quantity of the compound and if there are adverse effects, it will be filtered out." He leaned rudely close. "Believe it or not, we don't want to harm you."

"You are correct. I do not believe you."

Oplack stopped short again. "You are unusual, aren't you? The galaxy's only uppity Vulcan."

Spock looked up at Mather, who stood on the far side of the table, arms crossed, jaw tight. He met Spock's eyes but gave no indication of his thoughts.

Oplack followed Spock's gaze. "I'm sure you have work to do, Lieutenant."

"He is my work for the day, No-Rank."

The woman was still waiting. Spock unhooked his robe and dropped it around his waist, shielding his mind firmly. She placed sensors over his heart, his chest, his neck and temples. Spock pulled his robe back up and rehooked it.

"Arm." She sounded impatient.

Spock pulled his cuff up and the blood filter band was strapped on. The display showed it finding a vein and the status turned green. The machine beeped regularly as it calibrated.

Spock centered himself. As Kirk had pointed out that morning, Spock could potentially be interrogated by Klingons as part of his duty and it would be far more stressful than this. He hadn't explicitly stated the rest, that if Spock could not mentally cope with this, then he had no business assuming he could cope with that.

The blood filter beeped. Spock felt strange, oddly light.

"There is something wrong with your filter."

"No, it's working fine. You were given a dermal patch of prep drug. One of the sensor patches was a dummy. Wanted to be certain it would work without you knowing it was administered."

"That will disturb the calibration. Will it not?"

"No, the filter knows that drug. It's not the experimental one."

Oplack sat before Spock, reached out as if to straighten him in the chair but pulled his hands back before contact. Spock thought Oplack's face must have changed. The angles of it seemed out of proportion to Spock's memory of moments ago.

"Now. Feeling a little odd? You joined the Militants why?"

"To sabotage them."

"Tell me something that's a lie."

Sitting straight upright required conscious effort. "I do not understand."

"I want you to lie to me. It's really very simple."

Spock looked into his gray eyes, his oddly thin brows and said, "I like you a lot."

"Cute. Try a convincing lie. That one showed up on all the monitors."

"You might need a reward to get compliance at this point," the woman said. "Drugs that make you not care, make you not care about everything."

Spock looked down at his hands, they felt swollen, but they appeared perfectly normal.  
This dichotomy in his senses made him feel ill and the drug made it difficult to filter out the errant sense.

"What do you want most in the world, Spock?" Oplack turned to the woman, "Hook up the doser."

She touched Spock as part of pushing up his other sleeve, and Spock jerked away, nearly fell off the chair.

"Put on the gloves, Rakel. Drugged Vulcans can't shield." He rolled his eyes. She put on thick gloves and hooked the cuff on.

Spock wanted to tear free of her again, just in memory of the accidental assault of her mind on his. Spock gingerly pulled up his sleeve and stared at the new device, at the lights and the curved display, the taped over ports, the obscure notes in permanent pen. It was not medical equipment he recognized, even under the alterations. "What are you giving me?"

"That's just a bit proprietary. Don't worry, it starts to harm you, it will come out of your blood before it can circulate a second time."

Spock's head lolled.

"Dial the prep back."

Spock was certain his hands must be swelling despite their normal appearance. It bothered him greatly.

"Tell me how you sabotaged the Rebel ship," Oplack said.

"I wasn't on a Rebel ship. And I explained twice already."

"That's right, the Vulcan ship."

Spock explained, lost track of his explanation, tried to start again, noticed he was repeating himself. Stopped. No one said anything to him for a while; they were making adjustments to equipment. Spock tried to concentrate on their thickly acronym-laden conversation but found that difficult at some moments and ridiculously easy moments later. They were working with some kind of brain network, reconfiguring it.

The woman was losing patience with being blamed for something. "Look, the swarm has formed the right chains. I can see them on the readout. I'm telling you, you need a reward or you won't get compliance."

"Or a threat." Oplack sat down across from Spock again, studied him. "What do you want most in the world?"

"To be elsewhere," Spock replied.

"But you are helping us out, remember? You want to help out the Federation, don't you?"

Spock found the words one at a time from some storehouse of words in his head. "I do, in theory, but in practice I do not trust you."

Oplack glanced at the woman. She said, "You don't know if he would have said that normally. He's a hybrid. You have no baseline."

The man stood again with fidgety movement and went to the displays. "The baseline is human response. That's why he's useful." He tapped on displays, going down the row. "We'll make some other connections, see what happens."

The room tilted as if a gravity field emitter had rotated forty five degrees. Spock watched the infinite white flat plain of the floor careen up to strike him. He moved his balloon hands to push himself up. The floor was warm. Floors were supposed to be cold.

"You need to do this one array of connections at a time." This was the woman's voice, tired of repeating herself. "You don't have a baseline."

She grabbed Spock by the wrists, dropping him into emotions of annoyance and denigration aimed at Oplack, flashes of memories of a breakfast of sweet pastries and coffee, a fight with a girlfriend. He couldn't pull back in his mind, so he thrashed his arms to physically free himself and fell hard again, gasping at oxygen rich air, which added to his dizziness.

"Gloves, gloves, gloves," Oplack scoffed, his voice a floating thing above Spock. "If your life wasn't so dull as to qualify for the highest clearance, you wouldn't have this job."

Spock was hoisted up by muffled hands onto a gurney. He tried to curl up on his side but his feet were pulled straight and strapped down.

Spock controlled his breathing, found some basic disciplines to center himself, opened his eyes on Oplack's face looking down at him. He narrowed his eyes at the human.

Oplack said, "Works for me. Let's try again. Tell me a lie I'll believe. Convince me of something. And then you can go somewhere else. Okay?"

* * *

Kirk left his shipmates as they headed out to a sponsored post-parade dinner and returned to Security HQ. He asked the desk clerk to page Lt. Mather and waited in the lobby, trying to be patient. He was ten minutes early. Mather appeared right at fourteen hundred, an annoyed wrinkle fixed to his brow. He told the clerk to look up Kirk's record, found his temporary clearance from visiting the computer core with Admiral Coyran six months before.

"Look at that. Providence. Come on."

He led the way to the lift and turned crisply to face the door as it closed. He confirmed Kirk's instincts that something was off when he said, "Intel's got him, by the way."

Kirk turned. "What are they doing?"

"You'll see."

The door to the interview room slid open. Spock lay on a floating gurney beside a cart of equipment, a broad chested man in cream was bending over him.

Kirk stepped across the floor and came up on the other side of Spock, touched him on the arm, which made Spock flinch. Kirk pulled his hand away.

"What are you doing?"

The gray-eyed man straightened, smiled. "Ah. Lt. Commander James Tiberius Kirk." He turned to Mather. "You let him in?"

"He has a better clearance than is needed to be in here, actually. Has 5 days of validity left on it. Surprised you don't know that, since you know everything."

"I'm busy." He bent to adjust something on a unit under the cart.

"I asked you what you were doing," Kirk said. He turned to Mather. "What's his rank?"

Mather crossed his arms. "They don't let anyone know. They do have them."

"What's his name?"

"Oplack."

Kirk bent over the gurney. "Spock?"

Spock raised his eyes and looked dreamily up at him, focussed on him after many seconds. His chest rose and fall unevenly. His robe was askew, not covering his chest. Kirk put his hand on the gurney surface to reach out but avoid touching Spock again. The gurney foam was cold.

"Least you could do was turn the heater on to help keep him out of shock," Kirk said, flipping the unit on and adjusting it. "Maybe you should have someone from medical here." He said this while staring pointedly at the woman in medical blues. He turned back to Oplack. "I want to know what you're doing to him."

"We are establishing the truth of his story. That's what he came here for, isn't it?"

Spock shook his head. "No." He went on when Kirk bent close. "Not what they're doing." He swallowed hard. "Swarm."

"Swarm? What's that? A raver drug?" Kirk demanded.

"Eh, wouldn't work for that. It's a method of interrogation. Our most successful method. But, you see, we haven't figured out how to use it on Vulcans. And we find that we now have several we want to talk to more than they are willing to talk." He gestured formally over Spock's supine form. "Here we have a willing test subject who can assist us in bridging the gap between our expertise in using the swarm on humans to using it on Vulcans."

"Willing?"

"He signed the form. He is proving his loyalty to us by assisting, despite the discomfort."

Kirk clenched his hands into fists. "Spock? You all right?"

Spock nodded. "Mostly."

"Are you still doing this willingly?"

Spock tilted his head to the side, breathed haltingly. "I do not know."

"How long have you been at this?" Kirk looked at each of them in turn, gauging them.

Mather said, "Two hours. They usually quit for the day right at seventeen hundred."

"You have no idea whether you are harming him," Kirk said to Oplack. "Another three hours is too long."

"His demonstration of loyalty will have fallen short, in that case."

Spock's faint voice said, "I want to pass."

Kirk said, "Spock, guys like this don't keep their word. I know his type."

Spock's gaze pulled into something like focus. "Really?"

Kirk gave him a wry smile. "I'm sorry, Spock. I let you down again."

"Aww. This is sweet." Oplack said, "But I need to finish this sequence of arrangements."

"You're done." Kirk gestured at the equipment. "Filter the drug or whatever it is out of him."

"I don't take orders from you, Commander. Your valuably hybrid friend wants to help us. He can stop us any time, but he hasn't."

"He isn't competent to stop you anymore." Kirk came around the gurney and faced down the much broader and taller man. "So I am. Filter it out."

"Or else, what? What could you possibly do?"

"I can go to your superiors, for starters. Or the press."

Oplack leaned down close enough Kirk could see his pores. "No, you aren't going to do that. You can't."

Kirk looked him up and down. "Why not?"

"Because I can destroy you. So easily." Oplack stood straight, propped one hand on a hip. "I'm wired to our databanks, Kirk. I am our databanks. Which vulnerability shall I use? Ah. Yes. How about this one right here?" He put a hand on Spock's shoulder. Spock made a noise of distress and twitched away.

Kirk grabbed Oplack's arm. "Don't touch him."

Oplack smiled. "I can make the Federation very interested in the legality of your relationship. One related filing you arranged with Starfleet won't mean anything if the press gets a whiff of an investigation by Federation authorities. Your public persona would become your worst asset, and you could hardly use it against me, or us, after that. Wouldn't even matter if they ruled him an adult within the hour, you'd be destroyed for good."

Kirk sucked his lips in between his teeth and held them there.

"Come now. It can't be that hard of a decision. It's four hours, and he'll be done."

"You said three."

"Mather said three. I'm saying four."

Kirk burned, felt he might ignite from it. He turned back to the gurney. Spock's eyes were cracked open.

"Spock? I need to know how you're doing."

"The tests are acceptable. But I cannot bear to be touched." He breathed faster just talking about it.

"You really want to try and make it until eighteen hundred?"

Spock looked around the ceiling as if confused by the idea of time. He nodded. "I cannot be touched."

"No one will touch you." Kirk looked at each of the others in turn. "Given you can't shield, it would legally be assault to do so." Kirk breathed in and out. "Fill out your acceptance of Spock's application to Starfleet right now. Give it to Mather to keep in a file of his own."

"Or?"

"How badly do you want to interrogate all those Militants we captured for you? Seems like you need Spock maybe more than he needs you. I tell him to stop, he'll stop. To hell with my personal repercussions."

Oplack's eyes narrowed.

Kirk said, "Better hurry. Eighteen hundred is coming up fast."

Oplack bent over the table and Mather slid a digital document over to him, filed it away when Oplack signed off.

Oplack growled in a rumble as he turned. "Get out of my way then."

Kirk stepped around the other side of the gurney, placed a hand on the corner of it beside Spock's shiny hair. The foam was warm now.

Oplack ran a series of controlled tests, reconfiguring things between each. He threatened Kirk's reputation whenever Spock didn't seem to be trying hard enough to hide random information he'd been fed, or to make up a convincing lie of his own.

By eighteen hundred, Spock's speech was badly slurred. Kirk stood with his hands clasped before himself, alternately rubbing his skin raw or crushing his own bones. He chewed on the side of his thumb until realizing he was doing that yet again and forcing himself to lower his hand.

With a flourishing gesture, and a told you so face, Oplack engaged the blood filter.

"Learn anything?" Kirk asked. He'd come this far. He shouldn't try to deck the man, no matter how badly he longed to, how badly he wanted to break his fingers against his strangely wide jaw.

"That's confidential."

Spock shifted on the gurney, tried to sit up.

"Hang on. Wait until it finishes," Kirk said.

"I want to go." He sounded terribly young.

"We'll go the second it's possible." Kirk almost added, I promise, but realized with a dark twist of his heart that his promises weren't worth much today.

The filter beeped out a coded series.

"Three chains were damaged or malfunctioned," the woman said.

"They'll be cleared out by his body."

"But-"

"I said. Don't. Bother."

The woman drew back from Oplack and crouched to stow equipment.

"All right if I touch you?" Kirk asked. At Spock's nod, Kirk removed the two circulatory cuffs before anyone else tried to.

The woman took the units from Kirk's hand. "He tolerates your touch," she said.

"He tolerates a lot more than that," Oplack said. He came over to the gurney to turn off the heating controls, put his chest an inch from Kirk's. "You diddle kids regularly?"

"You know I don't. You have the data. And he's an adult."

"Sure he is."

"If he weren't your torture would also be unacceptable."

Spock curled forward to sit up, held his head in his hands. Mather came over. "We have a dispensary."

"No," Spock harshly whispered.

"I'll take you home." Kirk put Spock's arm over his shoulder and swung him off the gurney. His legs were plenty strong, but his balance was unpredictable.

"I do not like this floor," Spock said. "It's like infinity."

"The other drug will wear off," the woman said, not looking up from the putting things on the cart. "It's a common relaxant."

Mather walked the two of them out of the room. The security guard followed in silence. Spock's balance failed at the lift, nearly missing the opening. "Can I help?" Mather asked.

"No, don't touch him." Kirk pressed Spock to the wall of the lift to hold him up. "I promised no one would touch him. I'm going to stick to at least one promise today."

Spock muttered something. Kirk bent his head and asked him to repeat it.

"Don't want my mother to see . . ."

"She won't." Kirk hoisted Spock up and out of the lift. "Where's the transport area?"

Mather held the lift doors open and pointed, "It's over . . . hell, I'll show you." He led them across the lobby where they attracted some attention and into a large alcove marked with crystal rings on the floor even though it wasn't an active terminal.

"Thanks," Kirk said.

Mather shrugged and shuffled off. Kirk pulled out his communicator.

"Ranger, Kirk here. Two to beam up. And track down Chapel. I need her. She was in New York City with us. She can give herself a sobering shot if she needs one."

Kirk adjusted his hold on Spock's rib cage as the lock took hold.

* * *

A/N The reason you don't see this story in the recent TOS stories is it's rated M. You have to use the button and pop down on Rating to change the filters to see the M rated recent postings. So, enjoy... there are more stories that you didn't know about.


	17. Warning Order

Chapter 17 - Warning Order

From the Ranger's transporter room, Kirk led Spock to the empty sickbay and lowered him onto one of the diagnostic beds, turned up the heat on it, covered him with a blanket.

Kirk watched the vital signs on the monitor. "I can't tell you how sorry I am about today. Or how sick with myself."

"James. Do not punish yourself. I will recover. You are correct that if I cannot handle this, I cannot handle many other worse duties."

"Yes, but those are years away. For good reason."

"I was needed as an experimental subject. But I would have preferred being asked to help, not coerced. But I was willing to help."

Kirk patted his shoulder. "You're too good for Starfleet, Spock. It doesn't deserve you."

The door slid open and Chapel came in, frowning. "You rang?"

"I did. Check him out for me, will you? Please."

Chapel shook her head. "A civilian. And it's not a declared planetary emergency. Just can't stop breaking rules, can you?" But she read vitals, took out a scanner, used that. "You are covered in biosensor patches. Want me to get those off you?"

"I'll take them off," Kirk said. "How is he?" Kirk pulled Spock's robe aside, picked at the corner of a sensor patch on his chest and peeled it off. Chapel handed him a plastic sheet to stick them to.

"His stress hormones are very high. He's suffering exhaustion, but not in a form I recognize. What happened?"

Kirk tried to keep Spock covered as he worked his way down his body. "Intel claimed they wanted to interrogate him to clear him for the Academy, but they really wanted to experiment on him, to learn how to interrogate Vulcans. I'm not sure what they gave him. It wasn't a drug, but it was injected."

Chapel went to storage and came back with a surgical sensor. She hooked it to the bed and stood back while it motored over Spock's torso to his head where it tilted and circled.

Chapel read the data off a monitor attached to the wall. "Look at that. I've heard rumors of these. Neurobots, I think they call them. They link into the brain's own network of connections, creating bypasses and crosslinking to make someone speak when they wouldn't otherwise or remember things they've forgotten. A few hundred of them seem to have fallen dormant or malfunctioned."

Kirk stood to look over her shoulder. "Are they dangerous?"

"Not given the gazillion neurons he has, no." She steered through an image of a highly magnified prickly device chain on the monitor. "Small enough to pass the blood-brain barrier. Amazing."

"One of the personnel expressed concern about leaving any behind."

"Yeah, having a few around to examine might be interesting for someone."

"Not anyone you know, though, I'm sure."

She scratched her temple, tilted her head to the other side. "No. No one I know personally. And I'd have to operate to get them out. But I have the micro worm to do it, and he wouldn't feel a thing."

"You want them out?" Kirk asked Spock.

"I'd prefer it."

Chapel nodded at Kirk, went to fetch more equipment. "You assisting?" she asked from the storage room.

"I can."

Chapel used a scanner guided tri-nano wire arm to fetch the neurobots out through a hole in Spock's skull the size of three bone cells. It required an hour of careful fishing, but they were removed.

Chapel washed the invisible neurobots off the wire arm into a test tube of saline and labelled it, held it to the light as if she might be able to see them. "Hm," she said, feigning disinterest.

Spock sat up on the diagnostic bed. Kirk put a hand on his arm. "You okay?"

Spock nodded. "I am in need of an hour's rest if I am to not worry my mother when I see her. Then I can rest tonight and should be fully recovered."

"Sleep here under the monitor, just in case," Kirk said.

"You are overreacting, Commander," Chapel said. "He's fine." She put the test tube in the sickbay safe. "Take him to your quarters. You know you want to."

Being cajoled by Chapel made Kirk smile. "But he needs to rest."

"He can sleep here if you insist. And you can keep an eye on him." She cleaned up and stowed equipment.

"Thank you, Christine," Kirk said before she could depart.

"If we're on a first name basis, it's Chris. Thanks."

Spock slept an hour and a half, then pushed himself up on one elbow. "My mother will be concerned by my evening arrival from a daytime appointment."

Kirk nodded. "What are you going to tell them?"

"Nothing. My father made it clear that whatever was necessary to clear the questions surrounding my actions was entirely mine to navigate."

"At least he's giving you some autonomy."

Spock nodded, raised a brow. "Perhaps."

"He's a father, though. If you told him what happened, he may change his mind."

"A human one might. My father would not."

Even knowing Sarek, Kirk doubted that one hundred percent, but didn't argue.

Kirk escorted Spock to the embassy, left him on the marble steps as the servant opened the door. He returned to his dorm, set an alert for oh four hundred so he could arrive in Cleveland on time the next day. He didn't feel much like selling Starfleet right then, but that wasn't the sole purpose of having them on show. People wanted to celebrate, to move on from the war to better things, and seeing the crew of the Ranger gave them a good reason to.

* * *

Kirk discovered that while parade duty was optional for his crew, it was much less so for himself. Local leaders and press had a full hold on his time. He called Spock the next evening as soon as he was alone long enough.

"How are you doing?" Kirk heard sympathetic pain in his voice as it bounced around the small room he'd ducked into.

"I am well now. Do not concern yourself. I am pleased to have my application completed and in process."

Kirk wanted him there with him, wanted to touch him. He had to get used to being remote like this. "I'm sure you'll be accepted, Spock. You are perfect for Starfleet."

"Three years is a great deal of time for study."

"I know you can't see it right now, but it's the right amount of time. I envy you a bit. I enjoyed the Academy. Except for a few things." Kirk rubbed the back of his neck, turned around in the small space.

"I will trust your judgement and reserve mine."

"There are more orientations you can go to. Early classes offered for the applicants who have to travel a long way from outside the core and need to stay around between application and acceptance. Might not be a bad idea to attend something. I'm going to be busy for a few more days." He dropped his loose arm. "I hope you really are all right."

"I am quite all right. It was a useful experience. I am supposed to know my own mind completely. It was an opportunity to do so."

"I respect your strength." Kirk heard his voice grow painfully affectionate. "Your kindness and your strength."

"Interesting. That is how I see you."

Kirk bit his lips, turned again in a circle. "I should sign off before I get maudlin. I have to learn to be happy connecting with you this way." He shouldn't keep giving voice to his weakness, but he did. "It's going to be tough being away from you."

"You are at least as strong as I am, James."

Kirk wondered how they'd gotten on this conversation. "I have to go. Lots of press here. I can't slip up. I'll see you."

Spock's voice was unusually quiet. "Take care, James."

* * *

Five days later, Kirk returned to his dormitory room thinking his ears must be stuffed with cotton it was so quiet. Absent was the constant thrum of footfalls on pavement, the snare drums setting the cadence of the school bands ahead of and behind their float. After two extra appearances in St. Louis and Kansas City they'd been released from parade duty. The smiles and excitement were worth it, but he was more than ready to be useful again.

The monitor light was flashing rapidly, indicating he had a lot of notifications. He paged through his messages, backed up to read the one marked Warning Order. Starfleet was giving him notice that in the next forty-eight hours they would issue orders to the Ranger to leave orbit on Stardate 3183.9, in five days.

Kirk breathed in fully, defying the tightness in his chest. There was nothing on the Warning Order about their expected assignment. Kirk really could have used an excuse to obsess over a specific mission. Likely it was mop up of the Rebel colonies, so they'd be sent more than a month's journey from earth. The ship was ready. The crew was restless. He was restless for space despite having unfinished things here on earth.

He issued orders for essential crew to return to the ship to prepare for departure. On the Ranger that was one shift worth. Given the crew were rested, he ordered them to one twelve hour shift on, one off, for the time being. He then messaged Rand to organize supplies as best she could without more mission information.

After all that was done, Kirk messaged Spock at the embassy, received a note back stating that Spock had family business to attend to and could not meet until the next day. Kirk considered informing Spock by message of his imminent orders, decided against it. He asked Spock to contact him by video if he had the chance that evening.

Kirk poured himself some wine and put his feet up, watched the Starfleet feeds, wondered if he should confront Ducal again. He definitely knew something, but his accusations in turn against Kirk had wrung true rather than as a tactic of deflection. It threw Kirk off to detect that honesty where he hadn't expected it, kirk, who well knew his own limitations when dealing with anyone above him in the command chain.

As the number of bars on the sleeve increased, Kirk's social instincts increasingly failed him. He found those more than one level above him to be inscrutable, with aggrandized dissembling manners that aggravated his own tension in response. Ducal set Kirk off the same way, by proxy. Kirk knew it was something he needed to fix in himself and he felt increasing frustration at not having been able to connect with a mere Lieutenant, when they should have had the same goals.

Kirk returned breathless and sweat-soaked from a hard run and was ordering dinner when Spock requested a secure connection. Kirk's mood brightened considerably. He propped the padd up against the wall beside the table and leaned on his elbow.

"Hey, Spock."

"James." The greeting was stoic. Kirk assumed Spock was concerned about being overheard on his end.

Kirk said, "I'll be quick. Just wanted to warn you in person that I've received warning of imminent orders to ship out on 3183.9."

"As expected," Spock said flatly.

"As expected," Kirk agreed with an affectionate tone, grateful for Spock's control. He'd watched others struggle to hold together long-distance relationships during six month assignments and was always relieved he'd never been foolish enough to attempt it. Spock's emotional control was half of what would make it work. Kirk felt certain he could hold up his own end.

Kirk said, "We haven't talked in a few days. You still all right from your bout with Intel?"

Spock's head turned slightly to the side as if this question was unexpected. It eased Kirk's mind more than the reply.

"Yes. Quite."

"Sorry I haven't had much time for you. But parades are done now."

"I fully understand that you have responsibilities."

"I'll see you tomorrow, then?"

There was the barest pause. "Evening. Yes."

"Have a good night, Spock."

Spock nodded a bow and the connection closed. Exposure to his father made Spock more Vulcan, but Kirk also assumed he was more comfortable in that mode absent Kirk's presence.

Kirk searched the feeds for relevant news. Unusually, Kirk had connected with Admiral Coyran, but unlike the others, Coyran had nothing to lose. And he'd not been like the others before his fall. He'd let himself be vulnerable, hence his taking the blame when someone else needed a scapegoat. There was a single short feed item, buried deep. The closed hearings regarding Coyran's alleged actions had concluded but the convened committee had not yet issued a decision.

Kirk cupped his white wine, watched the light bounce around inside the shimmering liquid. The situation couldn't be allowed to stand as it was. Kirk would not be put the same position of running a vessel and wondering about the motives of Command. That meant not going out into deep space unless he was satisfied things had been addressed, and that would require a lot of proof at this point.

Kirk straightened his shoulders and tilted his head back. He felt better and worse deciding where his personal limit was. Less than five days, sort it out or be willing to resign his command in protest. He was still the golden boy of the feeds, and now of the local news. He hadn't spent that currency. The best way to spend it would be to threaten to spend it. Either he was satisfied Pritchard's office had eliminated the source of the bad orders and the information leaks to the Rebels, or he would take his story of ships sent to the slaughter to the press.

Kirk finished his wine, tilted the glass to watch the last yellow-green drops slip out and onto the table top, wondered if he should warn Sarek of what he was considering. But he didn't want to be talked out of it. He didn't want even a remote chance that he'd find himself a thousand light years from earth, once again questioning his orders. To avoid that, he had to be willing to sacrifice everything.


	18. Something to Lose

Chapter 18 - Something to Lose

Kirk had dinner unpacked and plates ready when Spock messaged from the foyer. Kirk had spent the day on his ship, greeting the returning crew, overseeing making things operational. Then he'd returned to his dormitory in the afternoon to compose his threat to Pritchard, then got derailed by news that Coyran had been absolved of the accusations against him and was expected to return to duty. He'd watched the feeds after that, trying out theories that fit his observations, failing to connect the dots. Taking action with so many unknowns was doomed to failure, so to his dismay, he'd resisted doing anything.

"It's good to see you," Kirk said, greeting Spock at the door to his dormitory room.

He slid his hands up Spock's arms, took firm hold of his upper arms. Spock's gaze came up, seemed more vulnerable than usual before being masked.

"Everything all right with your father?"

"Yes."

Kirk released Spock. "He isn't having second thoughts about a Starfleet career now that you are likely to get in, is he? He certainly wouldn't be the first parent to have been supportive only because they thought the odds were low."

"No. My father would not remove his support once he has made such a decision."

"Well, I'm glad for that. Take off your outer robe, have a seat." Kirk felt a little frantic already for his own reasons, and he was projecting that onto Spock, seeing him as aloof.

Spock served himself, began eating with unusual attention to it. Kirk sat at a right angle to him, put his foot up on Spock's thigh. He wanted to say he'd missed Spock, but he had to start thinking about being apart for months, so days didn't count.

"Did you start reviewing first year textbooks?" Kirk asked between bites.

There was the slightest hesitation. "I have."

"Are you having second thoughts about the Academy? If you are, don't let my cheerleading force you into anything. I'm here to support you in whatever you want to do."

Spock dropped his gaze. "I appreciate that, James." He turned back to eating. Given Amanda's penchant for having cakes at tea every day, Kirk couldn't imagine Spock wasn't being offered enough to eat.

Spock finished what was before him. Put his fork down. "I am inordinately pleased at the possibility of attending Starfleet Academy."

Kirk felt overwhelming affection and couldn't keep it out of his voice. "Okay."

Kirk ate a bit, found he wasn't that hungry after all. He put his plate aside, opted to pour out wine. "Being apart is going to be tough. But it might actually be good for us. In a way."

"Gaining emotional perspective, you mean?"

"Yes." Kirk sipped his wine. He didn't really want to gain that perspective, but he knew he would, and it was the main positive he could hold onto.

Spock clasped his hands in his lap, let his shoulders roll forward, fell into a stillness.

Kirk said, "Any chance you can tell me what's bothering you? Unfortunately, at the moment, there are too many possibilities to choose between. Or maybe it's a bit of everything."

Kirk watched Spock's slim chest rise and fall in a slow, controlled breath.

Kirk said, "Intel's interrogation. Bothering your rest or meditation?"

"I am treating it as an exercise of self discipline and self analysis. I am not bothered unduly. Please do not concern yourself. You must have official responsibilities."

"I do. I'll have a lot more when the orders come through tomorrow. Until then I don't know what we're going to be doing. By the way, I won't be able to share the orders with you. I expect you can understand that."

"Of course. Do orders often come through that way, in two phases?"

"Sometimes. A warning order will show up if there is a big change coming up that needs to be prepared for, or if command really doesn't have the details and needs you to start preparing without the details."

Spock nodded. "I see."

Spock's curled posture wasn't welcoming to intimacy. He was almost doing what Kirk called turtling, something young recruits did during long periods of boredom between bouts of high stress. Kirk said, "I'd like to go for a few long walks planetside while I still can. Want to come?"

Spock bowed and stood up. Kirk looked for relief in his face, but didn't find it. He didn't find anything. If Spock was trying to immerse himself in Vulcan attitudes in preparation for a long separation then Kirk should let him do it. Kirk himself would soon be doing the command equivalent of it.

They walked in silence, uphill, but in no particular direction. Kirk wanted to simply enjoy the freedom of movement, but his thoughts were on Command, on Admiral Coyran, whom he was going to insist on seeing the day he returned to duty. Kids shouted as they played in parks. People walked their dogs, got out of groundcars carrying briefcases, shopping bags. The mundanity of it grated on Kirk who felt adrift being away from the regime of duty. But he made himself accept the seeming randomness around him, because someday it would be him living it. Not soon, but someday.

Spock walked with an active gaze, taking in everything as if it were all new. Kirk felt that Spock needed something from him. Hopefully it was something Kirk could give. Hopefully it was something Spock knew he needed. He was young enough he might not know.

At a quiet residential corner, Kirk reached for Spock's wrist. It was warm inside his heavy sleeve. Spock turned to him, face so neutral it didn't even contain questioning.

"There's almost nothing I wouldn't do for you," Kirk said.

Spock's gaze fixed in his own, then he looked away, stared off down the roadway, which dipped away out of sight. A mist began to settle on them standing there. Nearby leaves grew beads of water that bent them lower.

"Spock?"

Spock's voice blended in with the sound of the dripping rain water. "I deeply appreciate that willingness, James."

Kirk released Spock as a groundcab went by, tires sucking at the wet pavement. "We're not far from the dormitory. I walked us in a circle. Let's go back."

They walked faster and the mist eased off for a block before coming on harder. They carried the humid scent of rain into the dormitory foyer with them. Inside his room, Kirk turned while unhooking his jacket, gave Spock a painfully affectionate gaze he hoped spoke for him.

Spock took him by the arm, by the back of the neck, pulled him and his droplet covered jacket close, pinned their lips together. Kirk closed his eyes, joined in the desperate kiss, felt crinkles as his jacketed arms went around Spock's robed form.

Spock stopped as suddenly as he had initiated. Using his hold on Kirk, he pushed back, putting a few inches between them. Kirk relaxed, let Spock control their positions. Spock's face became angular. He looked down, confirming for Kirk that he hadn't meant to do that, had been holding back until his control failed.

Kirk schooled himself to silence, knowing anything sympathetic would weaken Spock farther. Spock's hands slid away, his arms shifted to his sides. His damp robes had darkened to the color and texture of sackcloth.

Spock's voice was hoarse and quiet. "I realize you wish to spend the evening together, but I perhaps cannot."

"I understand," Kirk said.

Spock looked up at this, showing confusion an instant before it too was sucked into neutrality.

Kirk said, "If you need to be apart starting now, I can abide by that. I'd prefer not, but if that's what you need."

Spock looked at the floor, looked away at another spot on the floor. "I need to see you again."

Kirk lightly touched Spock's arms. "Spock. I'm not any more accustomed to this kind of goodbye than you are. But whatever you need, I can do, okay?"

Spock's lips parted, but they pursed closed many seconds before he said, "I greatly appreciate you, James."

It was the third time that evening Spock had spoken a variation on that. Kirk didn't want to let Spock leave, wanted to make him talk, figure out what Kirk could do to make things easier. Kirk did exactly the opposite of that instinct. He unconditionally gave Spock the space he asked for.

"You should go then. Can I see you tomorrow? Or the day after?"

"Perhaps tomorrow. I will send you a message." Spock started to turn, then stopped. "My control should be better at that time. I apologize for my lapse. It was inexcusable."

"It's not an easy thing," Kirk said.

Spock shook his head, voice barely audible. "No, it is not."

"Spock. Ranger can't be out that long; it needs to restock. You'll be busy with your studies. We'll see each other often, okay?"

Spock hesitated replying, eyes distant. "Yes. Of course."

Kirk resisted hugging him, saw him out of the building making small talk about Spock starting early classes.

Alone again, Kirk poured himself more wine. He couldn't stop himself remembering Spock lying on the gurney at Security HQ, his own helplessness in the face of Oplack's threats. Spock had been mentally exhausted well before the time limit was up. Kirk had failed him. He let that failure burn in his midsection, let it drive his thoughts, his determination. Even though Spock seemed to be honestly past it, seemed to be having trouble with parting more than anything else, Kirk vowed to not fail him that way again.

Kirk went to bed early, took half a sleeping pill rather than drink as much wine as he would need to break from his circling thoughts.

* * *

It was still dark in San Francisco when Kirk rose and had himself beamed to the Ranger. Engineering was the only area with activity at that hour. Ensign Jones and Crewman Jilkin were doing routine maintenance of a condenser while chatting amiably. Mouse sat on the floor off to one side, cleaning mesh inserts with a fine wand. Kirk waved that they needn't interrupt their work for him, but they keep their heads raised, hands frozen.

"Are we ready to go?" Kirk asked, as if making conversation.

"I hope so, sir," Jones said. "We have a job to do."

"We're overdue," Kirk said. "I hope everyone is rested." He took each of them in with a friendly smile. "I'll leave you to your work."

Kirk's quarters were silent other than the faint breathing sound of the ventilation. He checked that reports were being filed for the outfitting and supplying. Most were. He didn't read them, just glanced at them. Lists. Dry and boring but extremely important.

He sat back, let his eyes wander around the narrow cabin. Everything except the desk and chair were shoved away, locked into place. It was going to be tough living in here alone. It was going to require all of his dutiful discipline to not dwell on how alone he was.

The chronometer flipped to oh six hundred. Coyran seemed like the kind of man to get an early start. Especially since he'd been disallowed from working at all until today.

Kirk nodded to lots of crew as he headed back to the transporter room. There was apparently more than one shift on the ship, and they were rising early. Everyone was eager to go. Staying groundside longer meant adapting to it, and no one wanted to do that.

* * *

Coyran, lean in his crisp admiral's uniform, stood in his outer office, talking to a staff member. When the staff member looked up at Kirk entering, Coyran turned to Kirk, turned away again without ceasing his instructions. The staff member finally nodded and moved off.

Coyran turned. "Commander."

"May I have a word, sir? In private."

Coyran studied Kirk. "In here." He led the way to his office, sent an underline out with a glance.

Kirk stood before the desk. "I'm glad you came through okay, Admiral."

Coyran nodded. Waited.

"In short, sir, I'm having trouble trusting command."

"About what, exactly?"

Kirk raised his brows, held them up.

Coyran tilted his head vaguely to the side. "I'm going to need you to be specific."

Kirk wanted to put his hands on his hips, forced them to remain at his sides. "The Ranger is due to depart in sixty-eight hours. And we'll be out there again, cut off. And I'm having difficulty fully trusting orders the orders we will be getting from HQ because it's not clear to me that whatever caused issues with orders before has been fixed. I think that's a reasonable concern, Admiral."

"It's been dealt with." Coyran looked tired as he spoke.

"I need proof it's been dealt with."

"You aren't going to get it. You're asking for too much."

"I'm not taking the Ranger out without proof."

Coyran didn't react. He studied Kirk as though he were something other than a fellow human.

Kirk looked away. Gave a laughing snort. "You have something to lose now." He shook his head, directing his helpless anger into wry amusement.

The door swished open. "Admiral, you asked me to debrief you at oh seven-"

"I need ten minutes, Lieutenant. Ten minutes to try and save Commander Kirk's career."

The receptionist glanced at each of them and departed.

Coyran crossed his arms, stood deceptively relaxed. "You are asking too much, and I think you know it. And you are free to throw everything away because you don't get what you ask for, but I'd personally recommend not doing that."

"What would you do in my place?" Kirk heard his voice come out hard, confident. He'd managed to find the right outlet for his emotions and it felt good.

"I don't think I'd make my demands quite so absolute. The former problems with orders. The problems with leaks. They've been dealt with. I will inform you, in case it helps, that there was more than one problem. And transparency, while nice in theory, creates critical problems with confidence."

"Why should I trust you? In your place, that is, sir."

"Because, while Command is slow to change, it does come around. When it has no choice."

"Witness you standing there," Kirk said. This came out mocking and it was out before he could retract it, or tone it down.

Coyran dropped his crossed arms. "You are one to burn bridges, aren't you, Kirk?"

Kirk looked away. He should apologize for his tone, but he couldn't find the will to.

Coyran's tone became unforgiving. "Let me give you some much needed advice, Commander. You are obsessing. That's not just a waste of personal energy, it's deadly. You've likely taken your attention off your mission preparation-"

"I just came from my ship, checking on exactly that."

"Glad to hear it. But why? Sounds like you aren't planning on going along."

Coyran's eyes were flints. He tilted his head meaningfully. "As I was saying, a commander who obsesses is a danger to everyone he commands, and others nearby. You have, I am certain, ship tours notwithstanding, taken your eyes off what is important, what is actually a risk, whether you are capable of admitting it or not."

Kirk held himself still.

Coyran tapped the desktop beside him. "I understand why you can't trust anyone above you, Kirk. I don't know how to tell you to get over that, except to tell you that you need to get over it or accept the consequences. Just try and make sure the consequences are for you, personally. Not for anyone below you. Not for your fellow commanders.

"Understand?"

Kirk wanted to repeat that his concerns were valid, but the conversation was far beyond that. He couldn't find an argument with traction. He nodded faintly.

Coyran's voice grew easier going. "You're too young, Kirk. I won't let my own son take his private craft out of the solar system and he's the same age as you. Go on your mission. It should be a lot easier this round. You won't get any questionable commands out of this office and if you do, you can personally take that out on me. Okay?"

Kirk clenched his jaw to keep it from trembling. "Am I dismissed, sir?"

"Yes."

Kirk reached the door, and Coyran's voice halted him.

"Perspective, Commander. Perspective. And good luck out there."

Kirk didn't turn around. "Yes. sir."

* * *

A/N: Life has gotten in the way of writing for pleasure. Will post as often as possible.


	19. Cracks

Chapter 19 - Cracks

The Starfleet HQ lifts were transparent, and ran on tracks down the inside of the tall narrow atrium. At the bottom, Kirk stepped out with the crowd and stepped to the side out of the stream. Tables and soft square chairs were spread out to the left of him, most of them occupied. Voices rose up, creating a warm hum in the cool filtered light. Kirk sighed through his nose and looked around without really seeing, trying to let his mind land on a plan of action that his pride could accept.

Above the seating area, a scrolling display ran the feeds. Border scuffle with the Romulans had the Enterprise busy in the neutral zone, a military bot factory was found on a colony world previously thought to be loyal, hobbled ships were still clogging the space lanes here and there. Kirk looked away but a change in the tenor of the chatter made him look back. A Vulcan Militant ship had raided a surrendered colony and taken recently delivered supplies, thirteen colonists were dead and the Federation was scrambling to send more supplies. Starfleet had dispatched the captured Vulcan ships with a crack security squad to chase them down. Kirk hoped they had an idea where they had gone. They could go nearly anywhere.

"Hey James," said a voice.

Kirk turned. "Commander Graham."

"I feel like I'm looking in a mirror." Her wry voice drew Kirk out of his morass of useless thoughts. She tossed her chin to the side and they stepped together to the curved wall where coffee machines were stationed.

"What's eating you?" Kirk asked.

"I'm trying to do my old friends on the Potemkin a favor. Jompero, the asshole, I mean, officer who replaced me as First is making lives miserable. No one under him wants to file a complaint and deal with the fallout, so I came to try in their stead. Bureaucracy won't let me. I don't have an official interest."

She stared off across the room, jaw rigid.

Kirk said, "Feel a bit like you let them down taking a new assignment?"

Her gaze remained locked on something across the atrium. "Yes." She exhaled. "But we all have to learn to take care of ourselves. Don't we? Even if things are less than stellar in the short term."

"Maybe you babied them too much."

"Me?" She laughed. "That's something I've never been accused of. Ever. But I did try to defend my territory, which I suppose means I was keeping my people protected from some BS. So. What's going on with you, Puss-face?"

Kirk didn't want to explain the meeting he'd just had with Admiral Coyran. Maybe because it'd make him look bad and he couldn't justify himself.

"The usual. Tangling with anyone above me." He looked at her closely, tried to get out of his own problems by addressing hers. "Why don't you make it your problem?"

She turned to him. "What?"

"Why don't you make Jompero your problem? Then you can file."

She raised a sultry brow, pulled back a little. The interest in her eyes grew, then faded. She frowned. "I have a ship to get out in a hundred and ten hours." She crossed her arms, eyes narrowed. "But, I might have time to fit in some butting in. I could, while I just happen to be here at Starfleet Command, get a temporary pass to the Potemkin. Visit a few people." She smiled flatly. "Get in the way enough to be an interested party."

Kirk raised his chin, found a smile. "You seem like the type who would like getting in the way,"

"You know me so well." She bumped him on the back of his arm. "Look me up before you leave orbit, Kirk. I'd like to have drinks. It's really too bad; you seem perfect for occasional recreation."

"So do you."

She crinkled the left side of her face. "Doesn't come out the same when a man says it. But look me up anyway. I'd like to meet the Vulcan who has acquired full rights to you."

Kirk nodded, watched her long legs stride away. The crowd closed around her. He watched the uniforms go by as if they moved in a dream. The weight of his meeting with Coyran pressed down on him again. He'd be stonewalled in Pritchard's office, if he was even let in. He would only get real help from someone who had nothing to lose.

A trio of vice admirals strode by, removing rain jackets. One of them talked while gesturing grandly. They paused, finished what they were saying, strode into a lift.

Ball bleedin' brass.

Kirk straightened. There was someone who had nothing to lose.

Kirk flipped open his communicator, had Gall look up the personnel record of one Darragh Finnegan. It was still early enough he may be just leaving home. Kirk loathed to abuse his ship's transporter when it was busy with preparation. He took an aircar the ten blocks to Finnegan's apartment building.

The building had a human receptionist. Kirk put on his best smile, did what he never imagined he'd ever do in his lifetime, asked for Finnegan's apartment.

The thin man behind the desk wore a pinstriped, modern high-collar coat. His face pinched as he spoke. "Did he say he'd be in?"

"No. I'm an old friend. Just in town for a little while."

The man smiled, tried to mute it. "You're Commander Kirk, aren't you?"

Kirk smiled again, gave a depreciating laugh. "Yes."

"Dar lives at his girlfriend's flat, pretty much all of the time."

Kirk scratched his cheek. "Oh. Any chance you know where she lives?"

"No. He picks up his packages, doesn't have them forwarded. Always says the only people who'd ever visit here are his enemies."

Kirk smiled. "He probably has more than a few." He turned, stared out through the glass doors. "How many Irish pubs do you think there are between here and Starfleet HQ?"

The man gave a clear single laugh. "He drinks most nights at the Mickey S, but you might catch him at The Bonny Anne for lunch."

Kirk turned. "You know him well."

"He talks a storm when he stops by, always after putting down a few." The man said, "You his friend or his enemy? Maybe I should have asked."

Kirk grinned. "Both. Old enemy, but I need something from him."

"Ouch." The man sat straighter. "Well, maybe you didn't learn where he drinks from me."

"Of course not. I know him well enough not to get you on his bad side. Believe me, I know." Kirk patted the desk. "And thanks."

"And thank you for your service."

"I do it because I can't do anything else, but I appreciate the sentiment. And the help."

Kirk returned to the Ranger, spent the morning shuttling between engineering and the bridge. He might have worked right through lunch, lulled by feeling so at home. But he couldn't. He'd promised himself he'd settle this, one way or the other.

Kirk beamed down to an incoming transport area a block from the pub and walked quickly through the mist because he hadn't worn a jacket. The pub turned out to be named the Anne Bonny and it featured a carved figure of a woman in ill fitting men's trousers, her open shirt revealed her breasts, her arm stretched out, pistol in hand. Kirk tried not to feel hopeful that Finnegan choose to drink in a pub named for a pirate. He didn't find Finnegan inside.

Kirk sat down at the bar on the end where he could see the door and ordered a pint. The woman working the bar wore a black shirt printed with a skeleton pirate stabbing a bleeding heart with a scimitar. Kirk eased her into conversation, found out Finnegan was there often, but she hadn't seen him that day.

Kirk nursed his ale and waited, casually watching each person who came and went. At fourteen hundred he gave up. He was enjoying the feel of the ale, the insidious way it instilled in him the hope that everything would work out. He walked through the mist until he found a shopping street, bought a basic blue and white duffel bag, took it back to his dormitory and carefully packed it, leaving out a few things he'd need over the next few days. Normally he'd be back on the ship full time this close to departure. This halfway commitment to a mission made him uneasy. He wasn't used to doing things by halves. He felt like he didn't know himself.

There was no message from Spock about evening plans. Kirk left the duffel out on the dormitory bed, beamed up to the Ranger.

The ship was busier. Rand intercepted him on the way to the bridge. Full orders had come through. Kirk had been correct, they were ordered to Haven Colony on Ideran IX, one of the smaller of the original colonies to rebel and one of three still acting obstinate. Kirk scanned the report as he walked. Haven was a prosperous agricultural colony growing modified hybrid alien crops, trading ninety percent of what they grew. They could act up while continuing to eat well, counting on the Federation to be civil and not bring the hammer down unless a rather generous line was crossed.

Kirk toured the ship, feeling uneasy. The looming departure where he may have to deny Starfleet his services would undoubtedly be perceived by the crew as disloyalty, and reasonably so. Ensuring their orders were proper was in itself a form of loyalty to his crew, but a more abstract one than sabotaging the Ranger's departure, which his actions would most certainly do.

He must have acted distant. Riley asked Kirk twice if anything was wrong. The second time, in the lift, Kirk turned the question around on him. "How are you, Riley?"

Riley bowed his head. "We have a very important mission, sir. And I'm proud to be part of it."

Kirk patted him on the shoulder. "Yes, we do."

"The Ranger may be small, but it's an effective part of the fleet," Riley sounded as if he were quoting someone.

Kirk rubbed his chin and stepped out of the lift. Gall called him back to the comm console.

"I think I found that ship, sir."

She rapidly reconfigured the boards. The ship's personnel and equipment status screens went away in favor of the columns of ship arrivals and departures.

"So, if it is this one, it's been altered. But it came in on one of those unusual trajectories you mentioned, and it matches on almost all of the metrics. Different registry."

"Where is it?"

"I don't know where it is right now. But it was in earth orbit twice in your data set. Last time four days ago. It didn't file a flight plan when it left orbit. It just drops off the system control. Which, to be honest is only a little unusual. There are a lot of blind spots even in sol system. So she may not be squatting behind a cargo hauler or something obviously suspicious like that."

Kirk felt a flutter in his gut. "Four days ago."

She pointed. "Yes, sir. Arrived here, departed, or presumably departed, here."

"Any scan data?"

"Yes. Confirmed crew of five Tellarites. Cargo hold flagged as shielded. Ship is registered as a courier of sensitive instruments. Registry was clean so it wasn't subject to search."

Coyran's words about obsessing were gnawing on Kirk. "Can you keep an eye out without interfering with your duties?"

"Yes, Commander." She smiled brightly "It's reminding me what it takes to do multiple things at once at this board."

He patted her chair back. "Thanks." Pained, he said, "See that it doesn't interfere."

* * *

Kirk beamed back to his dormitory at nineteen hundred. He had a long list of things to do on the ship, but Spock had messaged that he wanted to get together. He arrived right after Kirk did.

Kirk gave him a firm but quick kiss. "It's getting difficult to get away to see you. How are you doing?"

Spock nodded, seemed to concoct an answer. "Well enough."

Kirk slid his arms around Spock, held him firmly. "I don't believe you. What can I do for you?"

"I wish you had made love to me without holding back."

Kirk studied Spock's eyes, pushed Spock's bangs back from his forehead on one side, graced his ear. Spock had gotten a haircut. That was why he appeared more severe. "That what you really want?"

Spock didn't reply.

Kirk said, "I don't think you know what you really want."

Spock looked away, held his gaze to the side.

Kirk brushed Spock's trim hair back again. The short, stiff hairs didn't stay back. "You are having a much harder time with parting than I imagined you would. I'm sorry that I don't know how to make it easier."

"No matter. I will adapt."

"Come here." Kirk backed up to the bed, reached out to toss the packed duffel to the floor. He rested back, holding Spock across his chest with Vulcan robes forming a padding between them.

Spock closed his eyes and held them shut. Kirk studied Spock's delicate eyebrow hairs, the way his eyelashes rested on his cheeks. Crinkles appeared at the corners of Spock's eyes as if he were clenching his eyes closed.

Kirk rested his head back, patted Spock on the back, ran his fingers along the prickly hairs at the base of Spock's neck. He studied him again, how severe the neat hair made him appear. Spock didn't seem interested in moving, so Kirk remained that way, holding him, trying to stay in that moment, not trapped and circling in his concerns.

An hour later Kirk's stomach growled. He patted Spock on the arm to get him to rise up, but kept hold of Spock's sleeve to keep him from getting too distant.

"A walk?" Spock asked. He sounded far away.

"And a last wonderful dinner out. Sounds good."

Kirk's communicator chirped. He dug it out of the bedcovers. It was Riley. There was a subspace connection from Commander Holiday of the Beacon, who wanted to coordinate their planned rendezvous before approaching Haven Colony.

Kirk was grateful he and Spock had spent the short time they had in each others' arms, rather than going right to dinner.

"I've got to go."

Spock's voice was faint. "Tomorrow?"

"I'll try, Spock." He touched him on the neck, rubbed his thumb over Spock's cheek. "I can't promise."

Spock's hand tightened on Kirk's arm. "Tonight. Can you return?"

Kirk shook his head. "Spock. You have to get used to this."

Spock straightened. His face grew flat. "I am prepared to be separated. I simply wish to see you another time." He sounded like he had at Security HQ when he was trying his best to lie.

"I'll try. That's all I can promise."

Before he could delay more, Kirk requested a beam out.

* * *

Kirk stood on the bridge overseeing a last minute change of equipment. It was twelve hundred forty. He had been contemplating beaming down to the Anne Bonny for lunch, trying again to find Finnegan. Coyran's voice nagged him every time he considered it. He was diverting his attention away from his duties and the mission and his crew would pay for that. The ship tended to lull him too. She whispered to him of how easily he could ignore his concerns and take flight in her.

Kirk's communicator chirped. He looked at the connecting id and stared in confusion at it, flipped it open.

"Hey, Sailor," came unfamiliar but very friendly female voice.

The bridge crew's heads turned, faces became amused and bright. Someone snorted. Kirk retreated to the lift, headed down to a crew deck that would be empty with everyone at stations.

"Who is this?"

"Gabra from the Bonny Anne. I stole a peek at your transmitter id when you weren't looking. Hope you don't mind." Her voice sounded sultry, not sharp and bartender like it did in person.

Kirk laughed. "No, I don't mind. Serves me right."

"Wondered if you were going to show today. You were good company."

"I'm about to ship out."

There was a pause. "Well, fuddle. Isn't that the way it goes? Well, only one thing I can do to get your attention then is tell you your friend is here."

"Oh. Thanks. By the way, do pirates say 'fuddle'?"

"This one does."

"I'll see if I can get away. He just show?"

"Yes, and he's ordered a fifth so he'll be here awhile."

"Thanks. Kirk out."

"Well. Gabra out too then. If I don't see you, keep safe."

"Thanks."

Kirk closed the communicator and slowly put it on his belt. Finnegan, his worst enemy. Just thinking of him made his sides sweat and the skin on his neck prickle. His worst enemy and his only possible inside source for information, a properly drunk and presumably freewheeling source, no less.

Kirk couldn't ship out without knowing what was going on. Coyran's warnings or not, he simply couldn't do it. He went back to the bridge. Chief Long had taken over coordinating equipment patches to the bridge for the new system.

"You have something to take care of, I hear." She raised her brows.

"Not what you think."

"I lose the bet, sir?" Gall said this loudly and turned to Toyvan.

"You will have lost the bet by the time we ship out, yes."

"Dang."

"Tell my First not to skip lunch, will you? I won't be able to track him down. He still in engineering?"

"He's planetside as well, sir."

"He is?"

"Personal business."

"When's he reporting back?"

"Fourteen hundred." She lowered her voice. "He has been on duty most of 60 hours, sir."

"I know. But I should have been informed."

"That might be my fault, sir."

He poked her shoulder. "Try and see that it doesn't happen again."

She nodded crisply. "Yes, Commander."


	20. Old Enemy

Chapter 20 - Old Enemy

Kirk spotted Finnegan immediately despite the shadows cast across his upper body. He sat in a booth behind and to the right of the bar. His pale hair glowed. Kirk drew in a long breath and marched around to his table, ignoring his body resisting getting closer. His body remembered all the little aches, the insults. The bartender nodded a greeting as he passed. He gave her a wink of thanks.

"If it isn't little Jimmy Kirk," Finnegan said with the deliberation of the permanently drunk.

Kirk slid into the booth. Finnegan had a fifth in front of him and a tall slim cylindrical shot glass that resembled a transparent shell casing.

Finnegan waved a sloppy hand at the bar. "Bring me ol' friend Jimmy a glass, Gabby."

"You do this every lunch?" Kirk asked.

Finnegan reached into his pocket and pulled out a capped plastic cylinder, shook it, set it beside the bottle. It was full of sobering pills.

"Me chaser."

Kirk's stress sweat turned clammy on the skin of his back and sides. He couldn't loathe even this man in this state. Gabra slid a heavy faceted glass across the table to Kirk, who caught it. Finnegan poured out a shot with a steady hand.

Kirk sniffed it, sipped. At least Finnegan wasn't killing himself with the cheap stuff. Kirk gave Gabra a glance that said he wanted privacy and she pursed her lips and slipped back to the bar.

"What's going on with you?" Kirk asked.

Finnegan shook his head like a dog would. "It's not me, it's the world, Jimmy. The universe. It's dose, dose, fekin' dose. More than any right minded man can take."

Finnegan drank down the glass, poured more for himself and for Kirk, despite Kirk's glass already being full. Finnegan managed to perfectly raise the whiskey's level so that it domed slightly above the rim and held there. Kirk had to lean down to sip across the top.

"Who's over you at command?" Kirk asked.

"The neddy Vice Admiral Argot." Finnegan raised his glass in a toast. "Operations Support."

"Doesn't sound so bad."

"When it isn't mindless asswiping, it's assbackwards. That's in the good times. These aren't those."

"What would you like to be doing instead?"

Finnegan shifted his body inside his uniform. He scoffed with a laugh. "I lost me dreams. Don't remind me o' 'em."

Kirk took a pretend sip. "Imagine you had twin brother. Off somewhere. What would he be doing right now?"

Finnegan's gaze fell distant. "Ach." He went silent a long minute. "Maybe he'd be a private pilot for some rich fuckin' langer."

"Not too late."

Finnegan's knuckles went white as he gripped the shot glass. "What do you want, Jimmy? You aren't here to cheer old Finnegan up. I know yah aren't."

"I need to know what's going on. I'm supposed to ship out in a few hours."

Finnegan's pale eyes locked on Kirk's as he sipped from his glass. "You lucky right bastard. Make a run for it. Why ya here ruinin' me lunch?"

"I don't like getting orders that lead my ship into a trap."

"Ah." Finnegan made a face as if to taste what he was drinking. "Well deserved. Yah bastard."

"Me?" Kirk's shoulders bunched but he forced them to loosen. "All right. If that's the currency I have to pay in. Sure. I deserved it. So, did my crew, and the crew of the Sanchez. All because of me. Better?"

Finnegan chuckled through his nose as he drank down another shot. "Still a brown noser, Jimmy."

Kirk drank a shot and poured himself another. The burn felt good, like sunburn on his esophagus. "I'll take that to mean you don't know anything."

"I'm everyone's gopher, Jimmy. Bottom of everyone's pile." He pointed at his chest. "I know a lot."

Kirk smirked. "Right."

"Try me."

"Pritchard. Why's he still in charge?"

Finnegan talked around his glass. "He's not. That melter's an empty suit. They couldna just toss the man on his ear with such blatant abandon, so he's removed but left in place. They'll pull him for good in four months er so. Make it look innocent. Like a babe to the retirement. His replacement is likely Coyran, but that little battle's still to be fought."

"They left Pritchard there with Ducal as a babysitter."

Finnegan's blurry eyes narrowed. "Yea."

"I saw Lt. Admiral King Ducal in action." Kirk sipped casually. Kept his voice normal, didn't appear to be fishing. "Ducal must have seen what that Vulcan could do when he was Admiral Howard's assistant."

This was greeted with a long silence. Finnegan swallowed even though he hadn't sipped. "Why are you blathering to old Finnegan if you know this sort o' thing?"

"I don't have all the pieces put together enough to ship out. What happened to Pritchard? He finds Vulcans to be invisible now."

"That's the treatments, I expect. The deprogramming." Finnegan sipped and smiled. "He's perfectly safe now. But not very useful. His decisions are all made for him by better heads."

Kirk leaned back, realized how tense he had been sitting. "So you think Command has actually pulled their act together?"

"Hells no. It's not like they've caught that Vulcan. He's slippery. Clouds minds like a vampire. They're patchin' a leakin' ship as it gets holes." Finnegan shook out a single sobering pill and swallowed it with a gulp of whiskey. "Something new this morning had everyone's tits in a twist. They'll run around in circles a bit and patch this one too. No one's in feckin' charge even if decisions are bein' made. Bein' in charge for real takes charisma. Time anyone gets to Admiral, they're dull as rocks." He sipped his drink again. "They gave you a ship, Jimmy Boy. Fools that they are. Take it. Fly with it away from here."

Kirk shook a little white pill out of the bottle too, swallowed it with the whiskey left in his glass.

"That's the way, Jimmy. It all evens out in the end."

Kirk stared into his shot glass, as the myriad jagged images reflected in it. He trusted Coyran, despite the man's intransigence. But he didn't like running away from trouble. That made him hate himself.

Kirk turned the empty glass in his hands, the remaining drops of amber liquid clung to the inside of it. "If I give you what I suspect is the new registry for that Vulcan's ship, do you think you can do something useful with it? Safely useful? Can you sort out who's trustworthy to take advantage of it?" He paused before looking up at Finnegan to gauge his response.

"You trust old Finnegan?"

"You're too sunk to be useful to the enemy."

Finnegan grinned and toasted him. "Yah bastard. Gabby, bring a pen and paper, will ya luv?"

Kirk wrote the registry down, slid it over. "Hard to tell whom to trust in situations like this."

Finnegan squinted at the string of letters and numbers. "Hells if I trust you, Jimmy. Yer lucky I don't deck ya."

"Yes. I know."

Finnegan put the paper down, poured a glass full for himself, set the bottle close beside himself as if he were done sharing. "Yer still a right bastard who deserves the worst. Always will be."

Kirk slid out of the booth. "What do I owe for the whiskey?"

"A punch in the gut, but I'll collect it next time."

"I look forward to it." Kirk nodded at Gabra and headed out of the bar.

It was raining. Kirk stood under the overhang, under the figure of the pirate and her pistol. He felt a kinship to Anne Bonny standing there beneath her fury. A bare breasted real fight would be preferable to his current fetal struggles. He'd have to get to Haven Colony for that. A fight likely awaited him there. He welcomed the idea of it.

He opened his communicator. Spock had left him a message. Kirk ignored it, called the ship, got Riley.

"Ship's ready to push back anytime, Commander. Stores and systems are check."

Riley's puppy-like eager voice grated on Kirk. "Did you run the final checklists?"

"Yes, sir."

Something to be said for an absentee captain, the crew learned faster. "Run them again. Stand in engineering while you do it. Make sure Chief Long is there. Make notes of anything not a bonafide absolute one-hundred percent yes."

Riley sounded amused. "Yes, Commander. Any other orders?"

Kirk had come planetside one last time but not with the intent of seeing Spock. He felt a wave of guilt for that. He had indeed lost track of what was important.

"I'll be back onboard in seventy minutes. Start the final crew recall. I wanted to give them as much time as possible since we're in earth orbit, but it's time to get back to work." Kirk felt a rush of eagerness, for a fight, for the freedom of space travel, for command. But especially for a fight.

"Acknowledged, sir."

"Kirk out."

Spock's voice came across the communicator's speaker as cold and flat in comparison to Riley's. "James. Your connection is originating in San Francisco?"

"It is. Want to get lunch? Then I have to run." Kirk swallowed hard. He should run now. He shouldn't be here at all. "Very quick lunch."

"You rather enjoyed the Thai restaurant near the dormitory as I recall."

That place was quite a distance away. Kirk could splurge on an aircab given his expenses were about to be zero. "I'll meet you there. Order if you get there first."

Kirk stepped out of the aircab. Spock stood on the curb wearing his casual heavy robes. The air was merely misting here. Kirk came up to him and slid his arms around him, held him tightly for several breaths. He smelled of Vulcan, of the embassy, of Amanda's cakes.

Kirk pulled his head back but kept his arms tight. "I'm sorry I have to leave you. It won't be for long, or it won't feel like long."

Spock's arms were loose around Kirk's back, fingers shifting. The usual sense of calm Kirk felt this close to Spock was absent, and he suspected if it had been absent the last time they'd been together too. It made Spock feel hollow, unreal. Kirk had really been preoccupied lately, irresponsibly so, to not have noticed and addressed it.

Kirk petted Spock's hair. "You okay?"

"May we skip eating and spend an hour alone together?"

Kirk smiled. "I'd enjoy that."

Spock's mouth shifted as if he weighed conflicting ideas. "Perhaps your dormitory?"

Kirk pulled Spock tight to his chest again. He wasn't feeling aroused, just anticipating loneliness. Groundcabs glided by, tires making a wet squeak as they turned the sharp corner.

"I'd love to use the last bit of time I have to be alone with you." Kirk petted Spock's hair again, pressing the rain into the already dark strands, trying to coax out that sense of completion. Kirk longed to drink in that calm feeling again while he could.

"We should go." Kirk stepped back but Spock's arms tightened, grabbed his uniform shirt. Kirk said, "I know you are strong enough for this, Spock. I know you are strong enough for anything."

Spock's eyes moved between each of Kirk's. He nodded with formal sternness and released him.

Spock said, "Perhaps you would like to walk instead of taking a groundcab?"

"You don't mind the rain?"

"It is no matter." After a pause, Spock added, "Rain is an essential part of the experience of earth."

"I'd like a walk. And that still leaves us some time alone in the dorm."

They began walking briskly. Kirk said, "I confess I'm ready to ship out. Dealing with command has been a combination chess and poker match and while I greatly enjoy both, I'm tired of playing this particular game of it."

Kirk's footsteps sounded loud, as if he walked alone. He turned and looked at Spock's feet and his soft desert booties which were growing soggy.

"You're sure the wet's not a problem?"

"It is no problem."

"This way?" Kirk asked at the next corner, turning around fully to orient himself.

Spock went to the left. Kirk caught up to walk alongside. The chill air moved around his body, bitterly caressing, exhilarating. He may have grown too accustomed to being groundside, accustomed to the feel of stretching his legs in the fresh air.

"I thought we'd head up the hill toward the dorms," Kirk said, looking around the plain, slightly dilapidated industrial buildings bordering the street.

He turned again and Spock was suddenly right there, firm hands on his arms.

"Oh." Kirk let himself be wrapped up.

Kirk felt blissfully warm when Spock enveloped him with his heavy robe. This street was quiet, no groundcabs, no other rushing pedestrians. Kirk felt around inside Spock's garment, trying to get his hands onto skin. For once he wasn't overly warm pressed this close.

Spock held Kirk tighter, ran a hand over his head. The mist clinging to Kirk's hair swept together under Spock's hand into droplets of water. Kirk felt the trickles run down his hair, pool on his collar, rivulet down inside his shirt. Spock's warm fingertips drifted over his skin in the wake of the chilly droplets. Kirk closed his eyes, relaxed into the touch, knowing he'd miss every bit of it. Spock's fingers forced their way under Kirk's collar, pulling the shirt neck taut. Spock's thumb and fingers tightened on the junction between his neck and his shoulder with a snapping motion, sending a jolt down Kirk's spine.

It wasn't painful, exactly. It was surprising, and it lasted only an instant before blackness rushed in.

* * *

Spock continued to hold Kirk's lax body upright. His face revealed nothing, even though there was no one on the street to see. He got a better grip on Kirk's back with one arm and reached inside his robe pocket to a small transmitter and activated it by blindly pressing in a long code. The transporter took hold seconds later.

The Tellarite at the transporter panel stepped back with a gesture of servile deference but three others rushed in, phasers drawn. Spock ignored them and bent and scooped Kirk up behind the knees, turned to face the door. The Tellarites looked at each other, one of them scanned Kirk's limp form, backed up again with a stutter step.

A figure slipped silently in from the passageway. His hungry, wild eyes fell on what Spock held and the right side of his lip curled compulsively.

"Can it be?" Sybok held a hand out over Kirk's forehead. Kirk twitched and moaned, making Spock have to hold him more firmly to avoid dropping him.

"You have indeed brought me your little plaything as requested. In all his innocence, no less. Come, Brother."


	21. Betrayal

Chapter 21 - Betrayal

Spock followed aft through the vessel. He walked the short corridors like an automaton, barely aware of Kirk's weight. Sybok stepped into a disused equipment room, gestured with exaggerated gallantry for Spock to pass. Spock carried his burden inside and placed it where he was told, on a knee-high empty equipment platform.

Sybok crouched at the edge of the platform and pressed his hand to Kirk's chest.

With a gasp, Kirk's eyes opened and glared upward. He raised his arms in a warding gesture, blinked at Sybok in surprise. Spock shifted to be in Kirk's field of view. Kirk jerked himself onto his elbows and looked between them, muscles tense, ready to fight.

"You . . ." Kirk said to Sybok, then confusion overtook his expression. He tried to read Spock but Spock gave him nothing but cold neutrality.

Sybok sounded bored. "Yes, we fought a battle for the soul of my brother and I won."

Kirk breathed in and out as if catching his breath from a run. He pursed his lips and sat halfway up.

"My brother's will always prevails," Spock said. "Especially when humans are involved."

"Yes," Sybok said. He raised his hand, moved it slowly as if outlining the space in front of Kirk.

Spock said, "I believe you will find that this human is stronger than most others you have encountered recently."

"Is he?" Sybok moved his hand closer, closer.

Kirk tensed, then collapsed like a dropped doll, rolled onto his back, tried to sit up again. His hand scrabbled for the edge of the platform, but he couldn't reach it. He lay panting, chest heaving.

"He does not seem it." Sybok stood, stepped back. "All humans are inane. But they can be useful when properly enslaved. We have grand things in motion, Brother. But we will let this one's weaknesses prey upon him and feast upon what's left later. Come."

Sybok swished from the room. Spock turned to follow, deep in his strongest disciplines.

"Spock?" Kirk harshly whispered. He leveraged himself up with his shoulder, but couldn't raise his head more than a centimeter. It fell back and he flinched at striking unforgiving steel.

Spock studied Kirk long enough to make it clear he would not react, turned away, stepped through the portal. Sybok sealed the portal with a handprint. He remained there, hand on the control for nearly a minute. "I have noticed your absence, Spock."

"I only awaited your call. Preparing."

"If only that could be made true."

Despite the ominous words, Spock remained deep in his control, and followed Sybok to the secondary control room that served as his quarters. Spock took up his usual position between the door and the displays, hands clasped before him, head slightly bowed, waiting instructions.

Sybok studied the monitors mounted crudely to the bulkheads to mimic a bridge. When his eyes moved, they darted around the screens over and over. Mostly they remained fixed on a particular display of Sol System.

A side screen showed the equipment bay. Kirk stumbled to his feet and with awkward footsteps, circled the room, checking every sealed port and plug, running his hands over discontinuities in the wall.

Spock counted the minutes. Ten. He said, "I would be pleased to assist you, Brother."

Sybok raised his hands as if he could control something through the screens before him. "It is just a matter of time. I await a sign. Until then . . ."

Another ten minutes. Kirk hadn't given up searching the room. He had pried off a wall plate but there was nothing behind it apparently. He had his arm inside the bulkhead fishing around in all directions. The way he held his arm after withdrawing it indicated he's cut himself on the metal cladding and was staunching the bleeding.

"I am quite qualified now in many Starfleet systems and procedures," Spock said. "I can be of help in ways you may be unaware of. If you will let me know what it is you are anticipating, what your plans are."

Another ten minutes. Then another.

"No." Sybok stood, paced backwards as if stalking the screens. "Sometimes they weaken too far. I will prevail. The time is not ripe and full yet. But it will arrive. Come. I cannot bear this waiting when I cannot reach out and change events. I have need of you, and must bring you closer so that you may truly be by my side to share in it."

Kirk dropped his arms as the portal slid open. He pinned his gaze on Sybok and held it there, ignoring Spock, arms flexed at ready. Blood had soaked his sleeve at the crux of his elbow, but the wound seemed to propel him more. His eyes were unforgiving, hard, plotting.

"All humans are weak." Sybok stalked up to Kirk, who clearly intended to remain in place. An invisible force knocked Kirk back with a jerking motion as his nerves betrayed him at Sybok's command. Kirk stumbled over a platform, fell onto his rear onto it.

Spock said. "Certainly there must be some variance in strength. Those in power-"

Sybok turned his head to snarl over his shoulder. "Every. One. Is weak. They are a weak race. They should be extinct."

"You have never met a single strong human, Brother?"

"I have not." Sybok raised a hand before Kirk. His voice grew dreamy. "So much weakness to pluck at, so willing to execute my will just to escape me the next time."

"Even those in high places?"

"Admirals even." Sybok spread his fingers, reached closer. Kirk froze in place, eyes glazed. "This is a mere what? Commander or some such?" He tweaked Kirk's sleeve. "Silly markings just like that on an animal."

"My brother," Spock said. "Your control over Starfleet cannot be so complete as to withstand being detected if the transporter is traced. Perhaps we should have altered course to mask that we are not on the track of the beam out."

"You think me vulnerable, Spock? You think my control not complete. It very soon will not matter. Very soon." His hand stretched closer to Kirk, began to tremble.

Kirk swallowed, pulled away from the incoming touch, glanced around the room with just his eyes, assessing. He shifted as if uncomfortable, but it was likely a ploy to get into a better position to strike.

"May I inquire how it is logical that you are so sanguine, Brother?" Spock asked.

"You will discover for yourself. Enough questions. I am in need. You know my habits." He tilted his head to consider Kirk. "Little human. Shall we look inside you? See if my brother is as much a fool as I believe him to be?"

Sybok flicked his raised hand and Kirk's chin fell to his chest. Groggily, Kirk shook his head, tried to sit up again. His arm collapsed under him and he fell hard to his side. He inched with his shoulder to shift himself around, turned his head upward by leveraging his chin on the metal platform. He looked up at Spock, eyes fierce and proud. Spock met his gaze with full control of himself, feeling almost nothing. Almost.

Sybok sat back with a pleased posture. "Yes. I know that emotion well, human. You are betrayed. Isn't it a wonderfully poisonous thing? You were weak and I won. As it should be." He flicked one finger and Kirk flinched away, cried out as if struck by something large and painful. Sybok said, "I will continue to win because I am far stronger. Your effort to fight is illogical. But pleasing. In this you are greater than your head admiral."

Spock stepped closer, pulled a neutral voice out of the depths of his locked down control. "I fear your distraction will result in us being overrun by the authorities, Brother."

Sybok turned suddenly, swung his raised hand around. A force struck Spock's mind, a kind of blanking out. He couldn't feel himself standing there anymore, just a vague sensation that his body was swaying on tenuous balance. Sybok had stabbed straight into him without regard for his controls, had found the one pathway of weakness and used it. Spock hung, suspended, shocked at his own weakness and weaker for that shock.

Sybok spun away from him, leaned over Kirk, shoved Kirk's shoulder to press him onto his back. He climbed up his body with jerky motions, slid his hands slowly up Kirk's neck, up his cheeks, embedded his fingers in his hair. Kirk tried to shake him off, raised a trembling arm, but it fell with a thud.

"Oh yes. Helpless," Sybok said softly. "So helpless, but that's not the key to you, is it? There is always a key, and one just needs reach in. And. Turn it. Then one has a slave."

Sybok's fingers settled on Kirk's face in a claw-like grip. Kirk's eyes widened, filled with watery horror. He gave a cry of agonizing terror that faded like a reedy instrument until it stopped when he drew in a long ragged breath. Sybok dropped one hand to his side, then the other, continued to kneel over Kirk, breathing heavily, posture exultant. Kirk's head tipped sideways, a trickle of saliva ran from the corner of his mouth.

Sixteen point four seconds from meld initiation, Spock counted. Impossible. He still swayed, could barely breathe, even though he could feel no appreciable force upon him. He must be stronger than this. There was no logical reason to believe he was not. It was all of the mind. It was all of his mind, no less, yet frozen he was.

Sybok stood up, kept his hands raised before Kirk as if warming them at a fire. "No. Helplessness wasn't the key, but we found it didn't we?"

Kirk rolled onto his side, breathing in small gasps with whimpers of despair in between. He curled his legs against his chest, wrapped his trembling arms around himself, compulsively grasping at his legs, his waist, as if trying to find something solid to hold to. Spock grappled within his own mind, shutting out every emotion he thought he already had, but had apparently failed to. He started from the inside and built himself outward into a machine, a logical machine of gates and switches. Control returned to him like a gush of water striking him, his arms dropped loose at his sides, freed.

Sybok's head came around, eyes darting around the room. "They are so weak. It is insulting to even bother with them."

Spock spoke quietly, from deep within his control. He had a task, a perfectly logical task. "Even their military leaders? Certainly they are more of a pleasure for you."

"Even they are disappointing. But they are useful tools to move the galaxy. As you will see. You will see when my will becomes reality. When we have war." Sybok stood in a rush, jumped to stand before Spock. His wild eyes looked Spock over with hungry interest. "But you, Brother. I lack your full company. And I require it more than ever. I require it now. You will give it to me."

Spock bowed his head, turned to indicate he was ready to follow out of the room.

Sybok said, "But. But. I cannot help but ponder the coincidence of your placement upon the Outlier flagship and that ship's subsequent revelation to the galaxy and not only that, but its disability."

Spock tilted his head. His voice remained small and humble. "You flatter me if you connect me to those events."

Behind Sybok, Kirk put his hands over his face, cried out as if in surprise at what happened all over again. The cry faded and he stifled a sob.

Sybok circled Spock. "Well, I certainly do not intend to flatter you, except with my guidance from here on. My teaching, which you so badly need." He stepped closer. "Great things are set in motion. The Federation thinks they are safe, but it is a delusion. I will have my will."

Spock slipped deeper still into the ultimate calm of his mind. He was untouchable there. He slipped deeply enough, pulled walls up high and thick enough, that Kirk's crying out again was merely data to be processed. In truth, he was as strong as any Vulcan. He had always doubted and now wondered why. "I am glad you are unhindered, Brother."

"I am. The Outliers were just tools. Just like every other powerful being in this galaxy. The rest fall in line because they secretly desire power and have been limited from taking it at will." He tilted his head far to the side. "Still. Brother. I cannot help but connect these certain events." Sybok held his arms out wide. "I want you accepted back into the family. My family. The only one with value. But to do that you must demonstrate your fealty to me." Sybok stepped back and indicated Kirk with a wave. "And I am a gracious patriarch. I will eagerly welcome you back if you are willing to lose your plaything for me."

"I do not understand your meaning, Brother."

"I will allow you back into my family. If you kill the human." He gestured for Spock to go by him.

Spock took a step toward the platform because it was expected of him. Kirk had caught his breath at Sybok's words and now held it, waiting, still bundled into a fetal position. His limbs trembled even though his torso had stilled.

"Ah," Sybok halted Spock with a tug on his sleeve. "But only in exactly the manner I dictate, as I dictate it. I will teach you how to gain real joy from this existence, Spock, and it is not by restricting yourself to this realm. You will take from him. And I will take from your taking from him. We will be brothers in this. Real brothers at last."

"I thought the human would, logically, continue to be useful," Spock said.

"He might, were you and I on some other path. But his future use pales in comparison to his immediate use, which is to allow you back into my trust." Sybok slowly shook his shaggy head. "It is the only way, in this beautiful, nearly endless universe, that I can possibly trust you again."

"I do not understand your mistrust," Spock said. "You are making broad assumptions based on mere coincidence."

"I am. Perhaps. But I make assumptions as I see fit. Not as I have been taught to do by Them, not in a weak way." Sybok's eyes became nasty with anger. "Those lessons were meant to weaken me as they weaken our race. I will have to teach you better. It is not too late." He waved at Kirk, voice sultry, almost obscene. "But first. The human."


	22. Brother in Death

Chapter 22 - Brother in Death

Spock bowed his head. "No one can stand in your way, Brother."

Sybok grabbed the front of his own worn robes. "See? That is why I feel your absence, Spock. Yes, _feel_."

Behind Sybok, Kirk's gasping continued and his head lolled at the edge of the platform. Spock stepped slightly to the right. "I do not fully comprehend your grand plan, Brother. I desire only to make it reality. Perhaps if you clarified it."

"I grow weary of repeating myself. My will becomes truth soon enough. You must accept that just as you accept that I am superior to you. But first, you will do as I say or suffer my hunger. Those who are not family are not worthy of my kindness."

"If you have no barriers, Brother, why obsess over such trivialities as this human? Is that obsession not a weakness itself?"

Sybok stepped toward Spock, eyes flaring. Spock felt a wave of something roll out from his brother. It buffeted around the edges of Spock's mind, but didn't touch him deeply buried as he was.

Spock stepped smoothly backward, bowed humbly. Behind Sybok, Kirk's legs were moving in a way that indicated he was seeking traction to get his knees under him. Spock saw this all factually, could mathematically predict Kirk's resiliency, his rate of recovery from past observations, did the calculations but carefully kept the meaning of them from his conscious thought.

Spock said, "I only seek to elevate my thoughts to the same superior logic as you, Brother. I need clearer guidance to do this."

"I see. Or do I see?" Sybok's wild eyes shrank, became slitted.

Kirk rolled onto his elbows, knees beneath him, rested that way with his head down, breathing in short whimpers. Spock kept his eyes locked on Sybok, who continued to challenge him as he took half steps backward.

Spock said, "I make no intentional implication beyond what I am asking. I seek to understand your intent at fomenting war."

"Why?" Sybok laughed harsh and mocking, waved an arm wildly and let it fall. "Why? Because I wish to watch the Federation's torpedoes rain down up Shikahr and know." He clenched a fist between them, shook it. "KNOW that everything he has dedicated his entire life to has been utterly destroyed. I will know he too lives, harbored on earth like a earthling insect, but is destroyed from within."

Spock sounded intentionally mystified. "You mean Father?"

Sybok twisted his chin around in the air while keeping his eyes locked on Spock. He looked like a mad puppet whose eyes were mounted on invisible strings while the rest of him moved freely. "Of course I mean him. I would see earth destroyed as well, but the Vulcans are not up to it, and the Klingons are too individually petty to fall in line with each other behind any such grand idea."

Spock adjusted his calculations, said, "Earth is my home."

Sybok grew consoling. "You have no home, Spock. You are as I am, an alien everywhere. Only with me can you make a home. And only you can convince me to trust you again."

Spock felt an insistent tugging at his mind. He recalled Zienn's state of sedate control and pulled that up over his mind. Sybok needed emotion to get inside him and he would not give him that again.

Sybok said, "My brother. I long to be that home for you. I long for it like the burning of the Vulcan sun. If you will let me. If you will let me in. Let me trust you."

Kirk lifted his head, turned it in their direction. His shoulders coiled up like a cornered animal. His back muscles shifted, stood out through the weave of his uniform.

Spock coldly recalculated yet again, said, "I do not wish to see Vulcan destroyed. The Militant ships needed to be disabled to end the tension they introduced."

Sybok lifted his chin, stepped closer. Spock remained in place, blissful and untouchable. The tugging on his mind grew stronger, reached all the way in and effortlessly peeled away his mental barriers, even absent any emotion from Spock to use as a tool. Spock refused to be terrified of how flimsy his control apparently was, knowing that emotion would become a knife to carve him apart. He gave up all concern for himself. He centered himself in the maelstrom on a pillar of cold uncaring. He stood exposed and vulnerable before his brother's wrath, but centered and calm. Absurd, but desperate. He felt a laugh rising up inside him.

Sybok raised his hand. The force on Spock's mind made him lose his breath, but again he resisted by not resisting, refused to give his brother a weapon like he had as a child, every time. Sybok's fingers shifted about in the air as if seeking meld points. He brought his hand closer to Spock's face. Spock's consciousness felt slippery and his head grew heavy. He was not strong. He was helpless, and he was lost. He had badly, dearly miscalculated and he could not afford to care that he had.

Sybok snatched at him, hand pressed to his face. Spock threw away every bit of his shielding and grabbed at Sybok's mind and pulled violently inward at it, a move Sybok was not expecting. The two of them fell over an empty platform. Spock gurgled in sick horror at the sticky illness washing into his mind, the devious pleasure, the mad hunger for revenge, but still he pulled at Sybok's surprised mind, pulled it into his own. The world around Spock dissolved, he became his brother, surprised, wounded, angry, righteous, superior. Spock reached back, found enough sense of himself in the seething horror to let out the most painful scream of terror he could.

Spock felt the cold knife sink home. It sawed against a rib on the way in, setting off a grinding vibration. The heart muscle bounded against the monomolecular edge, the flinty point, causing myriad lacerations that sent hot blood surging into the heart sack, pressuring the heart muscles, slowing them. Heat soaked Spock's back, glued his robes to his side. The pain was unexpectedly metallic on his tongue. He would not go alone into death. He would walk with his brother, his traitor of a brother.

Spock's lungs burned with need. His head grew unbearably heavy and his body slipped into lassitude. He knew this route well, had attempted to guide others on it. He stumbled through the untrained motions of it, gathering the soul up to depart. Sybok's soul didn't panic. It embraced death just as tightly as it embraced Spock.

A strange duality seeped into Spock's sense of his limbs. He breathed in, for some illogical reason. He breathed out and in again. He felt bruises on his elbows, his head, the back of his calf, aggravated by the unforgiving hard surface beneath him. Sybok slipped out of his grasp, both physically and psychically, as his brother's spirit was embraced by another realm and his body became dead weight too heavy to hold.

Somewhere, a world away, a knife clattered to the floor. The flopping weight slid off Spock in two surges, dragged off while expressive grunting sounded. Spock raised his head, uncertain where he was, why he still functioned. Everything had grown inexplicable. So easy to just let go. The heart could just stop. No real reason it should keep beating. No need or logic for breath.

Kirk crawled across the deck toward Spock on his hands and knees, stopped, fell back to his heels, lifted his hands and stared at them shaking before him, green blood trickled from the webbing between his fingers. Spock watched his strained face, felt emotion returning, an undeniable pull to comfort Kirk.

Spock slid towards Kirk, unexpectedly slipped off the edge of the platform. The pain of striking the deck jarred his spine, his mind. He sat with his hands propped up on the sharp metal edge, surprised to feel solidity under his fingers. He wasn't sure what was real. Wasn't sure why his heart was still beating. It stuttered, tried to stop, found rhythm again. Kirk lowered his hands, reached out for the edge of the platform beside Spock. Sybok's body sprawled beside Kirk, a battered Vulcan sandal had fallen off and lay on its side. Events always had a logical chain.

Kirk looked up at Spock, pleading in his eyes. Spock breathed in and out again, forced his thoughts backward through the chain.

"You found the knife," Spock said.

Kirk swallowed hard, bit his lip, nodded his trembling head in confusion.

Spock swallowed too, any second now his heart was going to stop because there was no reason for it to continue beating as it was. His voice dropped down to a whisper. He didn't want Kirk hurting, wanted to undo the last hour, remembered those frantic moments of executing a plan, putting himself into a state of utter, desperate, emotionless control. "I put it right where you always keep your phaser."

"Spock." Kirk crawled around Sybok's arm and grabbed ahold of Spock's robe, crawled closer and straddled Spock's legs. Kirk's shaking overwhelmed him. He fell to the side, rested his head on the platform edge, breathed in gasps.

Spock turned his body and lifted Kirk upright. "I'm sorry," Spock said. He held Kirk with care, scared of hurting him. "I'm sorry. We couldn't find another plan. We were out of time. They needed proof." Spock felt his heart flutter. It didn't have to beat. He could sense two worlds at once. He had one foot on the other side, could step across into death with a thought, with a lack of thought. He knew this path, deserved it for the hubris of taking others on it. Others he could not save. He felt the solid world slipping away, growing faint.

Kirk's hands grappled up Spock's arms, squeezed. "Spock . . . "

Spock shook his head. "My brother drew me into death with him and now death is right here around me. I am in it."

Kirk grabbed the front of Spock's robe and jerked on it. Anger replaced fear in an instant. "Spock," Kirk rasped, threatening.

The ship rocked and shuddered as if it were fired upon.

"They know," Spock said from far inside his mind. "The transmission." He reached into his pocket for the transmitter he'd used for signaling. It had been modified to provide a scanner feed for Starfleet Security. He held it out in the palm of his hand as if it were proof of something.

"Transmission?" Kirk looked around, cocked his head as though trying to dissect the ship by sound.

Spock let the transmitter fall. It clattered a lot like the knife had. Spock's head lolled. His heart had lost proper rhythm again. "No reason for it to keep beating," he said, mystified afresh that he was still in the living realm. He knew the path. He had one foot on it already, could not withdraw it.

Kirk shook Spock again, jerked his robes forward and back. "Spock. Stay with me."

Spock thought he must seem very far away to Kirk. Already lost. He lifted his hands to the bloodied fists clutching his robe, wrapped his fingers around them, found amplified fear pounding at him from Kirk's mind, raw, unbridled, burning out of and through him.

Spock tried to reassure his wounded lover. "The heart beats because I will it. I will resist crossing over. Although I probably deserve to."

Kirk pounded his fists against Spock. "Stay with me, damn it. I'm ordering you to stay with me. Do you hear me?"

The ship shuddered again and the lights went out.


	23. Fear

Chapter 23 - Fear

A transporter beam took hold. Its glare filled Kirk's vision then faded and released him. He collapsed across Spock's legs on the etched glass platform of a comfortingly familiar transporter room. He pushed himself up, then reflexively jerked away from Sybok's body beside them, heart throbbing in overbearing panic. With his flailing, he reached the edge of the platform and began to tumble off it. Hands caught him, righted him, and settled him with his back propped against the side of the platform. Spock crouched before him, held him in place forcibly. Kirk shuddered, half numb, his limbs disobeying him, fear rendering him helpless, like a malfunctioning doll.

Sarek crouched before beside Spock, gaze alien and level.

"Help him," Spock said. "Please."

"You are not well either, Spock."

"I am alive. Everything else is no matter."

Sarek reached out and took up Kirk's arm. Kirk flinched away, tried to jerk free, but the hold was absolute.

"I do not understand what state he is in," Sarek said.

A hand rose up, approached Kirk's face. Blind panic blotted out everything except the bruising pain of flinging himself against the edge of the platform, clawing against hands that were inhumanly strong. Something had him by the shoulder and then nothing, not even the sensation of falling limp to the deck.

* * *

Spock gathered Kirk up, turned him gently over, untangled his limp arms. "He has already suffered one neck pinch today."

"I did not have a sedative available." Sarek sat back on his heels. He glanced up at Sten at the controls who held a stun gun designed for use on a Le-Matya. "I did not think it wise to resort to that, or continue to let him struggle when I could sense he was injuring himself."

The control panel lit up. Sten set the stun gun aside. "We are being hailed by a Starfleet Security cruiser."

Spock stood with Kirk in his arms, pointedly ignoring the blood-soaked body on the platform. "I am reluctant to turn James over to them. They are unlikely to have the necessary skills to treat him and after their evaluation he will likely lose his career. Will you try to help him, Father?"

Sarek stepped close, looked down at Kirk's head drooping over Spock's arm. "I am obligated to make the attempt. Take him to a cabin and keep him calm as he rouses. I will deal with Commander Iona and Lt. Mather of Security and join you when that is completed. From the transmission, I believe Security has the evidence they requested and will not need anything more from us in the short term."

Spock said, "I will settle James in and join you on the bridge. It was my contact with Lt. Mather that set these events in motion. And I must face my failure before them. I did not manage to learn my brother's plans."

"I am more than willing to deal with the authorities in your stead, Spock. You should remain with your friend."

Spock's wrought emotions were pricked painfully by his father's willing use of such a baldly human term in a positive light, but he shook his head. "Given the betrayal and his pride, I expect James would prefer to recover alone."

Sarek studied Spock, nodded, spoke gently, "I will allow you to judge what is best in this. And I will satisfy Starfleet Security's inquiries until you come to the bridge."

Spock walked toward the far aft cabin where the impulse engine hummed soothingly rather than rattled. These corridors were familiar, but he walked them as if in a dream of unreality. Kirk felt weightless again, half real, part of a world he was losing touch with. He lowered Kirk to the narrow bed. To keep moving productively, he had to pretend his sense of the world was normal, that he wasn't slipping out of it.

Kirk's uniform front was streaked with Vulcan blood and the cuffs around the braid looked to have been dipped in it. Blood smears had dried on his hands and begun to flake off. Spock fetched a wet cloth and wiped Kirk's hands before arranging them under the blanket. His motions were precise, likely useful, but they felt distant and ineffective.

Spock wanted to remain, to explain himself, but he had duties that took precedence over his scarce psychic resources. He stopped in the doorway and turned back. Kirk lay inert, his breathing barely detectible. Spock remembered Zienn's strong mind and found that absolute emotional control again. It felt sore and bruised from overuse. But he found it. And Kirk would understand duty.

Oh the bridge, Commander Iona was on the comm screen with Mather beside him, chin resting on his fingers. They both had pinched faces of strained concern, narrowed eyes.

Sarek relinquished the copilot's seat to Spock. Mather leaned into the frame more.

"You all right, Spock?"

Spock had not expected this. He nodded to deflect the concern. He was still in this realm. It was apparently harder to leave it than he'd feared and that was sufficient for now.

"Do you need medical for Commander Kirk?"

Sarek said, "He is resting. We will procure appropriate treatment for him. Said treatment will be fully documented for Starfleet."

"How about you, Spock? Up for a debriefing? I can come onboard and get that out of the way, run scans on the body for evidence." Mather frowned in an oddly friendly way. "Or it can wait a few hours. But it can't wait too many."

"Unlike a human, my memory of events will not change. If that is your concern."

"That's unfortunate for you," Mather said. "If what you told us is true, that he'd have detected any deception in your immediate thoughts, then you did very well. If you want to specialize in clandestine arts after the academy, you'd do well."

"No." Spock replied without even considering it.

Mather and Iona both laughed. Iona said, "Intel is going to have our ass for stepping on their turf, actually." He started to say more but an alarm went off elsewhere on their ship. The connection muted, their faces went hard as they attended to something on another panel.

The audio connection returned. Iona said, "We're being called into emergency service. Try to make yourself available, along with Kirk. We'll need to debrief all of you as soon as it's possible."

The connection cut.

Spock turned to Sten. "Is there anything unusual on the scans?"

Sten paged through every sensor screen, shook his head. Spock stood. He needed to be as isolated from his own desires now as when he'd signaled his brother's ship. Emotions would betray him, would render him useless. He wondered if he could ever afford them again.

"Father?"

Sark had stepped up to him, unprecedentedly close. "You are injured, Spock. In some deep and difficult to define way."

Spock rarely saw his father from this angle. Most of the short hairs coming in around his temples were gray. His black eyes were veined with crystal-like blue.

"It is no matter. I am stable. Please assist James."

* * *

Kirk woke to his own cry of alarm. He was bound up in a clinging blanket with his uniform rasping against his damp skin. With great effort, and by rolling onto his front, he freed an arm, raised his head. He was alone. He dropped he head back to the bed, waited for his breathing to slow.

His back felt terrifyingly exposed as he lay there prone. He studied the feeling, tried to rationalize it away, but it only grew worse. Something was about to kill him, tear his spine from his back. He struck the deck as he floundered to roll over, to free his limbs. He scooted backwards until he reached a corner. Methodically, he gathered the trailing blanket to himself, bundled it against his chest and neck, hugged it. It smelled of Vulcan, which painfully confused him.

The doorway slid open and two figures entered.

"James," said a familiar voice.

Spock approached, crouched before him, brushed his sticky hair off his forehead. Kirk felt a flicker of calm leak into his panic, just a tease of it.

"I'm sorry, James." Spock shifted to the side, lifted his eyes to his father who stood in stillness staring down at Kirk.

Sarek said, "He was in telepathic contact with him for mere seconds. How could he do so much damage so quickly?"

"He identified the optimum weakness," Spock said. "His victim does the rest."

Kirk trembled at the memory of the meld, of being torn open and laid bare with no flesh to defend himself, of being made into something with no power over itself, his own worst nightmare, formed, exploited, made greater than himself. He tried to strike out again, to fight off the attack. His arm was captured, held firm. He felt Spock push in closer, snake his hand in and grip the back of Kirk's neck. Warm numbness trickled down Kirk's spine and his body ceased trembling, fell hopelessly lax.

"James? Will you allow my father to help you?" Spock's face was close enough to kiss. His breath touched Kirk's cheek, making Kirk ache for everything he was certain he'd never feel again.

"Help," Kirk echoed.

Sarek crouched on Kirk's right side, gaze distant and distressed.

"My father will meld with you. He will heal the damage, or enough until we can find you another healer."

Kirk jerked violently away from both of them, but he was already backed into a corner. A corner of his own, earlier, choosing. His panic was again neutralized by Spock's grip on his neck. He hunched there, pinned in by unyielding metal, defenseless, unable to back away any farther no matter how much purchase his feet tried to get. Kirk lifted his head, sought something in Spock's brown eyes. He needed to find his way, somewhere, anywhere, out of this horror. He made a pitiful noise of helplessness. At least it wasn't a scream this time.

Spock leaned closer still. "James, I promise my father will not harm you. Nod that you will accept a meld. Trust we will care for you."

Kirk stared at him, not finding what he needed. Spock seemed so remote, so alien.

Spock's breath touched Kirk's lashes. "James, you have nothing to lose."

Kirk closed his eyes. Helpless fear was fast becoming hopelessness. He truly did have nothing to lose. The cost of agreeing was his sanity, but he'd already lost that. He accepted his fate with a catch of his breath, closed his eyes harder. Kirk realized something was expected of him. He nodded.

Dry coarse fingers pressed into Kirk's right temple. He jerked his head free, jamming it into the join of the bulkheads. The hand on his shoulder tightened and he couldn't move at all. His neck became lax. The fingers released his face.

"Father?" Spock's voice.

"I cannot breach his mind unwillingly, Spock. As you are well aware."

"He is perfectly willing. He is instinctively panicked. Logically so."

The pressure on Kirk's neck eased. He could move his head again. He straightened himself, breathed in and out rapidly while he had the chance.

"James, you are willing, correct?" Spock sounded earnest, pleading. Lost. Not like himself.

Nothing to lose. Kirk nodded, let his head tilt back into the corner. His shoulder hurt where it was wedged under a reinforcing plate. He focused on that pain. A tear overflowed his right eye and ran across the top of his cheek and into his ear.

"I'm going to hold you still, James. All right?" Spock's voice became soothing and pleading.

Kirk wanted nothing but that voice. He wanted to take that voice inside him and make everything all right again. He wanted that calm to come back, to envelop him and never let him go. He wanted all kinds of impossible things and the knowledge of their hopeless remoteness brought on another tear. He had no choice but to give himself over, let himself go. He nodded again. The tear shook loose, forged over a dry part of his face, dripped off his chin. Spock's hand tightened and Kirk lost control of his limbs, his head lolled.

Again the fingers on his temples, slipping on the tears. His gut jumped, trying to push away, but his arms did not respond. He had accepted this fate, instincts be damned. He should embrace this new fate, embrace even the paralyzing fear. They had become a part of him anyway. The fingers sunk into his skull, opened him up.

Kirk sensed another consciousness. He sensed guilt. Stale, ossified guilt. Strange impressions and fleeting memories fluttered through not attached to anything else. He remembered Sybok. He didn't want to, the consciousness was rifling through his memories, pulling what it wanted to the fore.

"No," Kirk heard himself whisper. The angry fingers sunk in farther. Kirk would have lashed out if he'd been able to move. The consciousness followed the fingers inward, patiently surveyed the remains of him. He was incapable of hiding anything. He became this other being, became the guilt, the helpless attempt at controlling his second son, the drive to repair whatever could be repaired, no matter the cost.

Kirk sensed a softening, a knowing gentleness that understood too well his familiar humanness, that strived to accept it completely for what it was despite its lacking in so many aspects. The attention grew patient, consciously accepting of weakness despite logical resistance to it. Kirk felt the Other sinuously shift through his mind, soothing as it went, taking great care to understand each part of the damage before touching it. Kirk continued to hold passive, despite the exposure. It was like slipping across another's naked body during the intimacy of sex. No wonder Spock was leery of melding, nothing private remained. No trust could be great enough. Only utter helplessness and desperation could make this reasonable.

Kirk felt a burning pain in his lower right ribcage, felt the presence block him out the pain but fall short. There was a pause in the meld, a holding of position. Kirk reached outside his own thoughts in the manner of a blind man. Sarek was struggling, physically struggling. The meld was an enormous strain and his heart was paining him from that strain. It was a known flaw, unacceptable and ignored but omnipresent.

"No," Kirk tried to say, but merely made a bubbling sound. He separated himself from the clinging strands of Other consciousness and pain, stood behind his stubbornness like a commander at the helm. He found his throat and lips with some effort. "I withdraw permission for this meld."

There was a hesitation, then the presence pulled free, drifted distant. Kirk felt the dire knowledge that he was still badly injured sweep through him from the other, older, patient, giving presence. I know, Kirk thought back. But I cannot let you clear your guilt this way, by sacrificing everything. You'll have to do it some other way. Spock needs you.

Another hesitation, then a distinctive thought: I am certain at this point that Spock needs you more. Moments later Kirk felt a wash of loneliness. He still felt the deck under his hands, Spock's hands on his shoulder and wrist, but he felt abandoned and bereft in the wake of the meld.

"You can release him." Sarek's voice was coarse with fatigue.

The grip on Kirk's neck shifted to a hand around his upper back helping to hold his back away from the bulkhead.

"Did you succeed so quickly?" Spock asked.

"As much as he will allow." Sarek pushed uncertainly to his feet, straightened slowly, appearing to mask great pain.

Kirk watched him in alarm, wondered how long he'd been hiding this debilitation. Sarek knew what was wrong, Kirk was certain. Had ignored it for reasons Kirk couldn't fathom.

"Why did you cut off the meld, James?" Spock asked.

"Help me up," Kirk said.

"I will help you to bed," Spock said, lifting him without effort even in the ship's higher gravity.

"Really," Kirk said as he was conveyed to the bed. "My pride isn't up to this."

Kirk was lowered to the bed. He fought to sit up and was helped to. He watched Sarek, who was still gathering himself physically. Sarek, appearing weighted down by his robes, shuffled over to sit on a low seat on the wall opposite and brought his hands up in tense meditation.

Fingers slid over Kirk's back. Spock said, "James?"

Kirk turned. He had myriad questions to ask, and every one of them seemed like too much effort and the answers risked undermining him more. The sustained terror had drained him, left him quivering. He put his head into his hands and tried in vain to pull his will together. After long minutes he couldn't bear the struggle anymore. If he'd had a phaser at hand he'd have stunned himself into unconsciousness. He needed escape. He curled over his knees, fell on his side. Spock's hand came to rest on his arm. Kirk lay in a stupor until sleep overtook his burning self-loathing.

The door slid open. Kirk jumped at the noise. His face felt sticky, cheek wrinkled and itchy from pressing against the braid on his sleeve. He rose up and rolled over, heart throbbing helplessly against no apparent enemy.

Sten stood in the doorway, bowed his head low, and held it that way as he spoke. "I beg forgiveness for the interruption. The Federation has broadcast an all-receiver alert. The USS Potemkin is on course to Vulcan. There is concern about their intent."


	24. Race

Chapter 24 - Race

Kirk used Spock to get to his feet, willed himself not to sway. "Can we catch the Potemkin?"

"We are certainly capable of intercepting before they reach Vulcan given our present course." Sten said. "But we are just a small, private vessel. There is no useful action within our abilities."

Kirk stood before the old Vulcan. "We don't know what we can do until we get there."

Sten stared at Kirk with angry derision in his brows.

"Do as the human commands," Sarek said from deep inside his meditative posture.

Sten pulled his frail body straight and turned and stalked off. Kirk stumbled over his feet to follow. Spock took hold of Kirk's arm and stabilized him.

"It can't be allowed to happen," Kirk whispered. His steps halted. Visions of overpowered phasers and fully loaded torpedoes rained down on graceful cities. Kirk couldn't take action, even move his body. He barely remembered to breathe. "It can't happen."

Spock gripped Kirk's arm harder. "James."

Kirk swallowed, tried to physically force the fear down. The pain of Spock's grip brought Kirk out of the trap of bad potential futures. He straightened his back, felt better just from doing so. He spoke mostly out of habit, but in a whisper, "Let's go see what's happening."

Spock's overwhelming grip guided Kirk through the ship and up to the bridge. He folded down a jumpseat set at a right angle to the copilot's console. The sounds and feel of a bridge, even an alien bridge, soothed Kirk. He took the seat, strapped in, reassured by his body obeying his will, even sluggishly. He kept his eyes on the cold readouts and diagrams of the displays, even the ones he couldn't understand. He always managed something when things got bad. But maybe he'd always been a lucky idiot and nothing more.

Sten worked the controls, setting their course. He turned to check that everyone was strapped in, double checked Sarek's position behind him in another jumpseat before engaging the warp.

As the decks surged, Kirk watched Sarek, clearly still suppressing great pain. Kirk's chest tightened and twisted at imagining Spock's anguish at his father's death. Kirk leaned forward, reached out, clutched Spock's sleeve. Useful thought had fled again, there was only his own anguish at imagining Spock's anguish.

"We are stable at warp nine point one," Spock said. He unhooked himself and pushed Kirk by the shoulders to sit upright, but left him hooked in.

"I'm okay." Kirk forced his shoulders back, sat as straight as possible. He didn't want this attention; it threatened what was left of him. "Anything on the readouts?"

"Not yet," Sten said.

Spock crouched before Kirk, chest bumping his knees. "It will be at least half an hour before we get something on scan. You should rest additionally. Allow my father to meld with you again."

"Come on, Spock. When have you ever seen me rest in the middle of a fight?"

Spock's fingers moved spasmodically on Kirk's upper arm. "Never, I suppose."

Kirk said, "Put up a display of all the ships in the core that you have data on. Where they are. What they are doing. Pull up the feeds."

Spock nodded. But he held Kirk for half a minute before he stood and resumed the co-pilot's seat. He ran searches, pulled up maps with ships and vectors and put it in the central viewscreen.

"Are there any other constitution class ships in the area?" Kirk asked.

"All are stationed at the disputed borders except the Lexington which last reported in at Starbase 7. It's precise location is not in the public database. I can use the public navigational database to locate the ships only within three to four light years of our location."

The feeds were filled with the all-station alert, repeated verbatim by most news sources. There was no further information other than the Potemkin had gone to radio silence. Kirk pressed his fingers into his eyes, tried to get his mind to wander through solutions and not get mired in the horror of the possible outcomes.

"Vulcan's new defense shield. How long will it hold out?"

Spock configured an additional display screen, began querying, interpreting rapidly changing screens full of Vulcan text. In a split screen, he pulled up public statistics about Starfleet's ship classes and weapons. His fingers slowed. The screen update stalled halfway through a refresh.

"Unless there has been subterfuge about the defense's design, eight minutes at most, likely less time. The defense was not intended to withstand a ship with such power of arms. It was designed to repel the Rebel Colonists, especially their bot drops, and the Militants, who have mostly third party weapons of considerably less sustainable power. Protecting an entire planet from such a class of ship as the Potemkin would be an enormous undertaking."

The bridge was silent for a long time. The warbling hum of the warp engines seemed to grow louder to make up for it. Kirk pressed his hands over his eyes again, leaned forward into the straps of the jump seat, let himself hang there, reassured by being held securely.

"Are you all right, James?" Spock sounded terribly far away.

Kirk's breath wasn't coming easily, but he wasn't frozen by panic. "At the moment, yes."

Again silence. Sarek raised his head and sat stoically. He looked recovered, although strain showed in the wrinkles around his eyes. Amanda was on earth, as little a consolation as that was.

Sten said, "An evacuation is in progress of Vulcan's largest population centers. Anything spaceworthy is being called into service. The time limit is rather strict as launches will have to be halted to bring the defense shield into full operation."

Kirk unhooked the straps buckled across his ribs. He put his feet under him, adjusted them until he thought he could trust them. He pushed to stand without help and went over behind Sten at the pilot's seat. The sensor display of the ships in the core was crowded with icons and vectors. The Potemkin was large for the size of its vector. There were hundreds of larger cargo ships, but they were far slower, nearly static on the display.

Several small ships with long vector streaks were converging ahead of Potemkin. Ships flying in to intercept. It looked like a photo finish in slow motion.

"How long until we intercept?"

"Thirty nine point four three minutes," Spock said.

Spock looked up at Kirk with reserved hopefulness. Kirk ached to reassure him, but it would be a lie. He could barely hold his own horror at bay. Kirk glanced back at Sarek, who was staring at the forward display of ship movements. Without revealing any emotion he glanced up at Kirk, raised a brow. Kirk looked away, gripped Sten's pilot seat harder.

Sarek stood up, came gingerly forward and put his hands on the back of the co-pilot's seat. "How does this usually work, Commander?"

Kirk swallowed. His hands were sweating. "Not sure what you mean."

"These miracles you pull out at the last moment."

Kirk bit his lips to keep from laughing. His eyes watered with the effort. He breathed in and out loudly through his nose. "I admit, I'm usually fitter than this."

"I can assist you again."

Kirk turned to him, stared at him squarely. It might be perfectly reasonable for Sarek to be willing to risk his life on the chance that Kirk could pull some kind of miracle to save Vulcan. But Kirk had no confidence in himself so accepting was ludicrous.

"Maybe later," Kirk said. "I'm hoping there's a kill switch on the Potemkin that Starfleet just hasn't activated yet. But I'd have hoped they'd have activated it by now. So maybe not."

The minutes ticked by. The display failed to become a chessboard with an obvious next move, even a wildly desperate gamble of some kind.

Sten said, "There is another Starfleet vessel accompanying the Potemkin."

Kirk looked up from staring at the deck in a renewed bid to keep his panic under control. The screen showed an enhanced view projected from the scanner, the sleek, white, constitution class ship led half a million miles ahead by a patched, ungainly vertically compressed ship.

Kirk leaned forward over the panels, watching for the tags to update. "That's Dionysus class. It's not the Ranger, is it? What's the Ranger doing here? Hail them."

Sten worked at the controls. "They are refusing our communications."

They sailed on, converging on the display. Kirk watched the updates, adjusting to the layout of the data so he better understood what was happening. "Don't get in any closer. We need some warning if they decide they don't want us here and build up power to take a shot at us. Just pace them within communications range."

Sten made rapid adjustments to the ship's controls, kept his hands poised as if ready for more commands.

"Riley must have taken Ranger out. What's her crew count show as?"

Spock said, "Thirty eight."

"They didn't finish the recall. That's barely a shift and a half." Kirk rubbed his eyes. "What's going on?" Renewed fear gripped him. Nothing in this universe could be relied upon.

"Still no response to a hail?" Kirk said long minutes later. "Okay, record this. Put it on repeat on the main hailing frequency. Ready?" Sten nodded, but Kirk needed to rein in his doubts, sound commanding. He struggled, eventually closed his eyes to speak. "USS Ranger, this Commander James Kirk, I order you to respond to this hail with an explanation for your presence here. I want to know precisely who authorized you to leave station and take this course you are on. Over."

Sten set that to repeat, sat back. His aged face appeared haggard, his skin translucent in the light from the controls.

Kirk chewed on his thumb. "What are they doing here? Potemkin . . ." Kirk thought back, saw everything now through the lens of paranoia. "Garrovick was a little off a month ago. I thought he was just drunk. But he wasn't himself."

Spock said, "He participated in the attack on the bot factory."

"He wouldn't have had a choice. And he was sweating sheets when I beamed aboard for the dinner meeting. I remember how not like him it was to lose his poise. He was throwing Coyran's name around, associating me with him when the admiral'd just been put under house arrest. That stuck with me too. Like he was making everything personal for reasons I couldn't fathom. Also not like him." Kirk rubbed his forehead. "Damn. I've been looking in the wrong place for enemies." He heard himself say that and froze, glanced at Spock, who quickly looked away, down at the controls before him, face rigid. Kirk wanted to say they'd find a chance to discuss it, but he didn't want to say that in front of Sarek or Sten. He was a soldier. There was only the job in front of him. Everything else would wait.

Kirk searched the lighted controls around the communications board. "No response?"

"No."

"Gall would respond to that. She must not be at comm."

After a long time, Spock said, "Do you think Mr. Riley was or is my brother's thrall?"

Kirk bent over his grip on the pilot's seat back and hung his head.. "No. I think he's just in Garrovick's. Riley worships authority easily. The higher, the more heroic, the better. Something I should have broken him of. But I didn't. It was useful to me. To have his enthusiasm."

Kirk stood straight, studied the displays again with renewed stress that stole away his ability to think productively. Potemkin was sailing at nearly warp five. On the sensor readouts Ranger's warp engines were showing hot. Potemkin could certainly do something closer to warp six. She wanted Ranger with her. Kirk rubbed his chin, let his mind wander. How could they take down something as big as Potemkin? Control of Ranger wouldn't even give them a single percentage chance.

The other ships converging on the larger display included two ships of classes larger than Ranger. Several of Starfleet Security's Cruisers were also en route. Those cruisers were heavily shielded but barely armed, used for transport of personnel. But if enough Starfleet vessels harried Potemkin that would clue in someone on board that their actions were illegal and should be halted. That's what this was going to come down to, triggering a mutiny. A mutiny against a fine captain with a long and illustrious record.


	25. Friends and Enemies

Chapter 25 - Friends and Enemies

No one spoke. Kirk watched the display, mesmerized.

Sarek broke the long chain of almost musical machinery noise. "Ideas, Commander?"

Kirk felt emptiness sucking at his soul. "We need more friends." He rubbed his mouth. "I'm sorry. I have no ideas."

Again the ship and bridge noises took over. The display counted down fractions of lightyears remaining between their location and Vulcan. Two point two one, two point two zero . . .

Sten made adjustments to the communications, aimed the ship's antennas.

"I expected a reply," Kirk said. "I do wonder who's at comm on the Ranger."

"I was attempting to broadcast to the Potemkin instead."

"I don't have any sway over there."

"You outrank many of the personnel, do you not? Or do I fail to understand your system of organization?"

"No, you understand it. But assignments matter. I'd have to be an admiral to override what people were told by their own ship commander."

"There may be an admiral on one of the approaching Federation ships?"

"Yes. I expect there is." Kirk shifted his clammy hands on the metal seat back, watched the coalescing of attack vectors growing tighter on the screen. "It's going to come down to how much damage happens before official interference arrives."

Spock lifted his head to look at Kirk. "Will they really fire upon Vulcan?"

Kirk closed his eyes against the innocence in Spock's voice. Just like Riley, he hated to damage it. "Not following orders is a serious offense. If you are told there is a good reason for an action it's hard to disobey when obeying is what you do every day. We need to inspire a mutiny, which is a court martial offense."

Kirk sensed Sarek staring at him. He turned, preparing to apologize again for his inability to come up with a plan.

Sarek's gaze was thoughtful. "I see your repeated professional disobedience in a new light, Commander Kirk."

Kirk tipped his head to the side. "That's something." He turned back to the display with a lighter heart.

"Don't ignore the anomalies," Kirk whispered. Someone at the Academy had tried to drum that into the students' heads. Chanel. She'd had a handful of hard-learned lessons she'd repeat often, as if reliving a moment she couldn't take back.

Kirk bit his lip. "I don't understand this. Why is Potemkin letting Ranger slow them down?"

"Ranger is leading," Spock said.

"Exactly." Kirk straightened, felt air filling him. "Sten, change the recording you are broadcasting. Ready? USS Ranger, this is Commander Kirk. You are being sacrificed. You have been sent ahead to test Vulcan's defenses. Those defenses are more than sufficient to destroy a ship of Ranger's class, but not Potemkin's. Please, reevaluate your position in light of that."

Sarek's brows were both up. "Interesting tactic. Self preservation rather than arguing moral merits."

Sten rapidly worked the controls with his aged hands. "I am getting a connection request from the USS Ranger."

"Put it through," Kirk said.

Riley's voice came through, suspicion in his tone. "Commander, what is your location?"

Kirk thought, Comm knows but hasn't told you I'm on a Vulcan ship, maybe Gall really is at communications. "I, like all of Starfleet in this sector, am tracking you and Potemkin, racing you to Vulcan. Do you have orders from command other than those relayed to you from Captain Garrovick?"

There was no immediate reply. Kirk checked the comm display under Sten's thumb to see that it still showed an active signal.

Riley said, "Sir, I am not supposed to be allowing communications outside the mission group. Gall insisted this beam was tight enough it would not be detected externally to the Ranger. But I am in violation of orders and should close it."

"Riley, anytime someone tells you that you have to take action right now, that you cannot delay in order to verify or consult anyone else, that person is trying to sell you something. Probably not in your best interest. What kind of person makes someone rush to irrevocable action? A salesman, not a real leader. This attack can happen anytime. Vulcan's defenses are not going to change between now and next week. Why the rush?"

"I was given orders that were imperative." Riley didn't sound so certain. "A colony was attacked again. When will it stop? There will be others."

Kirk said, "Riley, you were given orders with a force of personality behind them. Those are especially in need of verification. I know you are trying to do the right thing. I know you want to be the hero and to live up to the expectations of your superiors. But I also know you are a careful man, and this isn't being careful."

The connection dropped. Kirk laced his fingers and pressed his knuckles to his mouth. Hopelessness swept through him, chilling him. His one chance.

Spock spoke gently, "The Ranger cannot stop the Potemkin in any event."

"I know." Kirk gasped this out. He made himself breathe, made himself watch the primary display. The Security Cruisers were falling farther behind. A Saladin class and an Aurora class vessel were leading the race of Federation ships, but still looked to leave Potemkin about ten minutes of unharried time in the Epsilon Eridani system.

The countdown continued. Two point zero light years ticked down to one point nine nine nine. Relative to the breadth of the galaxy Vulcan and earth were sister planets.

Kirk couldn't bear up. He leaned heavily on the back of the seat again, hung his head. The artificial gravity seemed to waver, but it was likely his senses.

Sten's hands moved. "I am detecting a weak transmission from the larger ship."

Kirk rubbed his forehead, squinted through burning eyes at the display Sten indicated. "That's the frequency of a hand communicator." He forced his brain to tick forward. "Can you pipe it through the main board?"

The sound of battered data came over the bridge speakers. Sten said, "I will attempt to better hone the antenna's aim. But I must change the position of our vessel relative to the larger ship."

"Go ahead."

They sailed in a circular path under the Potemkin's plane of travel, maintaining their distance. Sten adjusted their position in bursts, alternating with aiming the antenna. Kirk could see Spock's fingers twitching, longing to help.

The garbled data became a voice. " . . . read me? Assistance required. I estimate I have five minutes remaining before they cut through the hatch."

Kirk leaned between the seats. "That sounds like Graham. Can you narrow cast back to her? I don't want anyone hearing us."

Sten moved his hands, nodded that Kirk should proceed.

"Graham, is that you? It's Kirk."

There was a pause. "The hell, Kirk, really?"

On the display in front of himself, Spock spun a translucent virtual model of the Potemkin, zeroed in on the signal. "She is in an engineering access space within the primary hull strut." He looked up at Kirk. "I need your authentication to the Starfleet databanks."

Kirk leaned over, put his handprint on the display, after a pause the connection went through. Spock's fingers blurred over the controls. He glanced over rapidly updating wireframes of a constitution class ship, over the communications display showing the signal. "Likely they are cutting with a gas torch to avoid additional damage." He spoke louder. "To the left of the access hatch through which you entered there is large panel covering a vacuum patch board. It is made of high density alloy. Secure that against the access hatch. It will considerably slow their cutting by absorbing the energy of the torch."

There was a long pause with inarticulate noises. "Okay. Done. Looks like it's working. That your Vulcan, Kirk?"

Kirk felt a smile on his lips. "Yes."

"Where the hell are you?" Graham asked.

"On a ship with no weapons."

Spock said, "She has access to a number of vulnerable systems from that location."

Graham said, "I've disabled the impulse steering controls, but I can see them trying to reroute them on the panel in here. And I've locked out the torpedo bay doors by pulling the relays for them. What the hell is going on? Garrovick doesn't really have orders, does he?" She sounded rattled at the last, strung out, more like a panicked teen after a disaster than a ship commander.

Kirk said, "I don't think he does. Or if he does, they are bad orders."

"Commander Jumpero insisted the ship was operating under orders when they went to warp directly from high orbit. Which is already a no-no. When I challenged him he insisted that a rogue admiral was trying to bring down Rear Admiral Pritchard. Was trying to contravene official orders with his own. But I never saw any orders."

Kirk said, "Every available ship is trying to intercept you right now. How's that for a picture of the situation?"

There was a pause. Then she sounded too calm. "I guess I'm relieved I'm not on my way to a court martial if I survive this. I wouldn't be here at all if I wasn't such an asshole butting in where I'm not supposed to be."

"I'm glad you're there."

"They're still cutting through." Her voice sounded as if she were lifting something. "I don't have a phaser to hold my position. I need to disable the ship. Quickly."

"One could route the phaser bank charging conduits from the main engine through to the impulse engine coils. They will take the power flux without causing further damage," Spock said.

"That's dangerous cutting even with the right tools," Kirk said.

"I don't have any tools," Graham shouted as if from a distance. "Well, I have some broken things I pulled apart. I don't have anything shielded from conductance or heat." Her voice returned close. "Not that I'm not willing to take some risk. I have, I think, five or six minutes before they can kick in what's left of the hatch."

Spock was flying through wireframes, altering the tag data display on the conduits running through the strut so that it grew increasingly complex and technical. "She can disable the shields to her location. It is under a special cowling in the conduit where the power enters the access area and exits to the grid on the skin. It has a simple latched screw connector."

"Then what?" Kirk said, but he thought of the answer as he asked. "Get the Ranger to fire on her."

"This is a great plan," Graham said with dark humor. "But, either way, let me crawl inside the largest of the conduits, get as far as I can. It will slow them down getting me out." There was a muffled sound of rubbing on a uniform, the sounds of ringing steps on a ladder, then her voice became strained and close in. "The hell. The access branches up here. Where's that shield connector? At the very least the vulnerability will give them something to think about up on the bridge."

"It is in the D channel fore of your position. Back out and go farther along and then up into that conduit."

Spock gave instructions in a distant and detached tone of voice, instructions that if they worked right, would likely kill Graham. But Spock could do the computation, one life against a million, and he wasn't exactly ordering her to do it. Kirk tried to control his breathing, grateful Spock was handling things.

There was a lot of rubbing noise. "Good thing I've been doing my yoga. I hope Finn the security chief tries to follow me himself. He'll get stuck." A pause. "Okay. I see the cowling. It's clearly labelled, as if to be neighborly to saboteurs."

Some grunting and swearing. Tapping.

Spock said, "The strut forward shield on the Potemkin is down. There is overlap from the secondary hull shield, but it is low power."

"That it?" Graham asked.

"Yes." Kirk gasped. Fear for her had full grip on him. He couldn't do it. He couldn't order the Ranger to fire with her in that compartment. But his subconscious was conjuring plans, forcing them onto his consciousness.

Banging sounded. Graham said, "I'm trying to bend the connector so it can't be easily plugged back in. But it's made of something space-spec. Of course." Another bang. "Damn."

"Graham. I'm going to patch you through to my first. You remember him?" Kirk said.

"Oh." A long pause. "Yeah."

Kirk nodded at Sten, who required a moment to understand he should hail the Ranger again.

"Ranger, this is Commander Kirk. Riley? You remember Commander Graham from the party? I'm going to put you through to talk to her." He tossed his chin at the board.

"Patch the circuits together," Spock said to the pilot.

"Yes," Sten said annoyance. "I understood." He pressed the proper controls, hesitated. "You still wish to hear?"

"Yes," Sarek said. He sounded slow and saddened.

Kirk's eyes were hot. But he'd give the order to fire if it were him in that access panel, so he wasn't sure why it bothered him so much.

"The torpedo doors are already disabled," Graham was saying. "Riley," Graham became all sweet smile in her voice. "I need you to do something for me. For everyone. We need this favor. I need you to cut power to the phaser banks of this ship. I need a surgical strike on the top of this conduit, here, on the main transverse lines. I'm backing down, hopefully far enough below the emergency foam line that will blow in to fill when the access area decompresses."

Kirk tilted his head back, pushed off and stepped back. He needed to escape again like he needed to breathe, couldn't bear to remain in his body, alive, listening. He clawed at his own sides, bent over himself.

"I don't think I can follow those orders, Commander. I'm not supposed to be talking to you." Riley sounded younger every time he spoke.

Graham's feet were clanging on rails in a tight space. "Lieutenant, do you think I'd be giving you these orders if they weren't really really REALLY important? Think about that. But think quickly."

There was a long silence. Riley quietly said, "Well. I don't think my gunner is going to be willing."

Kirk raced to the forward panel and leaned on it. "Cut in." He waited for the signals on the panel to change. "Riley. If you have someone on that bridge who isn't following your orders, you need to replace them. Immediately. Is that Toyvan at gunner?"

"Yes, sir." Riley sounded tired. Stress was bearing him down, crushing him.

"Toyvan's the only one on that ship skillful enough to hit the right lines without killing Graham. Toyvan?"

"He's nodded, sir."

"Good. As you were."

"Security is through, I can hear them." Graham's voice sounded muted as if by a decompression mask. "Anytime would be good, Riley. Now would be even better. I don't want to get lower and expose my legs to easy attack."

On the display, the Ranger was slowing, closing the gap between the ships.

"Phaser banks are charging on the Potemkin," Spock said.

"Sten, get us space. Lots of space, and prepare to dodge randomly on a spherical path perpendicular to her guns to give us the best margin."

"I will lose the antenna beam."

"Lose it." Kirk hated that he felt relieved giving this order.

The ship heaved diagonally. Kirk went to his knees clutching the back of the pilot's seat. Phaser fire filled the screens, both visual and surges on data stream charts. Kirk glanced over in concern, but Sarek had kept his feet. During a lull Kirk crawled past Sarek to the jumpseat beside the co-pilot's panel. He barely got the straps hooked on his upper arms before the ship heaved again. The forward display filled with phaser energy, set off sparking arcs on the navigational shielding. Kirk vowed to never again complain about Sten's piloting.

Spock said, "The Ranger has fired on Potemkin. I estimate 97% likelihood they have disabled the power conduits to Potemkin's primary phaser weapons systems based on the location of the strike. And there is no additional charging to the weapon coils."

Kirk lifted his head and watched the display. "She's too close," he whispered seeing Ranger's position. "Tell her to take evasive."

"She already is," Spock said. "Full impulse."

A tiny dot of intensely blue light followed Ranger, catching up despite her surging effort.

"They managed to launch a torpedo," Kirk said, mystified and horrified in equal amounts.

"The torpedo doors can be manually opened." Spock spoke softly, as if giving a eulogy.

The blast caused the forward display to darken to obsidian brown. Kirk closed his eyes but too late. He didn't want to open them again, but found he'd done so without willing it. The deck beneath him warbled as they dropped out of warp to pace the other ships. Kirk clung to the straps as if sky diving and holding a broken chute. On screen, momentum was carrying the Ranger away with a hole blasted in the side of her secondary hull. The uneven inward warping of the metal skin between the ribs of the superstructure indicated the random order in which the shield zones had collapsed. Spock exhaled in a controlled noise of distress, bent his head and closed his eyes. He was sensing death.

"Sten, get into range for rescue," Kirk said.

Sten said, "Transporters are already engaging from the larger ship." He checked the readings. "I find that unexpected given events."

As if moving in a dream, Spock reached out, changed his displays. He spoke slowly, as if drowning. "Potemkin's shields are down. Both passenger and cargo transporters are running on rapid cycle. There are already no life signs from uninhabitable areas of the Ranger."

"They have to do that. Enemy or friend." Kirk reeled from the haunting image overwhelming him of the violence of decompression, bodies pummeled, blood boiled to gas. He forced himself to imagine the triage that must be going on in calm competence, steady air and full gravity. "I need to get to the Potemkin. Get to my crew." Kirk needed two tries to untangle himself from the jump seat straps. He managed to get to his feet on weak knees. "Spock. Come run the transporter and beam me over." He stood beside the co-pilot's chair. "Spock."

Sarek said, "Spock. I see no reason for you to deny the Commander's request."

Kirk met Sarek's gaze as Spock rose. "Thanks."

"You managed to succeed, yet again, despite great odds against it."

Kirk shook his head. "I don't think it was me."

Sarek tilted his head, but his eyes showed deep consideration. "As you wish."


	26. Mirror

Chapter 26 - Mirror

Kirk followed Spock down off the bridge. He tried not to think about who might be dead, how it was likely crew in engineering and security. He wanted to hope that some crewmembers he especially respected had made it through, but hated himself for wishing for the survival of some over others. He expected that Chief Long was more likely to run decompression drills than Glissen. Yet another thing he should have more closely overseen, but hadn't.

"Can I accompany you?" Spock asked.

Kirk waited until they were in the transporter room to reply. He grabbed Spock by the shoulders, shook him once. "Take your father to Vulcan. His heart is bad. Make him get it taken care of. Stick with him until he does."

Spock's brows pulled together.

"Spock? Do you understand? You have to force him to."

Spock seemed to come to a realization, observations clicking into place. He nodded.

Kirk released him, stepped onto a pad and turned. "Beam me over to the transporter room on the Potemkin to avoid an intruder alarm."

Spock moved to the controls. "James . . ."

"Later, Spock. I promise we'll deal with everything. When there's time to."

Spock still didn't operate the controls. "I am sorry."

Kirk dropped his gaze and balled his hands into fists. "Don't undermine me. Beam me over."

Kirk arrived to a triage scene in the transporter room. The technician at the transporter controls looked up at him in confusion, glanced over his uniform with a disturbed expression.

Kirk crouched beside Mouse, who was fighting off assistance. "Sir! Jonesy. I lost Jonesy."

Kirk took the mask she'd removed out of her hand and put it gently back over her face. Her eyes were as miserable as his spirit. Security, which had approached him from standing guard by the door, stepped back, returned to an easier posture.

Kirk looked to the med tech caring for Mouse. She was in a security uniform too and must be medical reserves. She was unlikely to know the total casualty count. Kirk squeezed Mouse's shoulder and stood straight. The worst would have gone straight to sickbay. He circled the room, touching each of his four crew one at a time.

"Where were you, sir?" The last crewmember plaintively asked.

That was a good question. Kirk had neglected his duties. He longed to curl up and not face the question. He sat on the edge of the transporter platform beside his crewman instead. But it was too hard to explain himself, which meant he had no excuse. The tech looked Kirk over more closely.

"You all right, sir?"

"That's the last question any commander wants to hear." Kirk hadn't meant to say that aloud. He struggled for a time, but found a deflection. "What matters at the moment is you in the crew. How are you?"

The tech glanced down at his cut apart uniform shirt, at the dermaskin being applied across his chest and arm. "Just a burn, sir. A freeze burn from the coolant, funny enough. Nothing serious."

"Good. Not to shake you off," Kirk said as he stood up. "I have to go find the serious ones."

"Yes, sir."

Kirk bent to squeeze Mouse's shoulder again as he passed.

* * *

Spock stood on the quiet bridge of the family ship. The viewscreen showed the drifting Potemkin and an array of Starfleet vessels powering low to stay fixed relative to her. His father had taken the co-pilot's seat and a course was being laid in for earth.

"Father," Spock said. "We are nearly at Vulcan."

Sarek turned after a deliberate pause. He appeared effortlessly stalwart and untouchable. Sten's hands ceased moving on the controls.

"I am quite certain Starfleet Security wishes to debrief you immediately, Spock." Sarek spoke with crisp words, the kind that brooked no argument. "We will, logically, follow their ships to earth to be fully cooperative."

Sarek's tone didn't reach Spock where he stood half in the physical realm, half out. Spock detected the underlying forceful disapproval, turned it around in his mind like a curiosity. Sten still had not resumed finalizing the course to earth. Spock took this as a sign the old servant was on his side.

Spock said, "It is logical, at this time, to proceed to Vulcan. And to consult Sqorr, the family healer-physic."

Sarek turned fully around in the co-pilot's seat and stood, his height accentuated by his robes. His face was hard enough Spock would not have spotted pain in it under any circumstances. That meant it was not evidence of Sarek's condition improving from Kirk's dire assessment of it.

"Are you taking charge of this family, Spock?"

The blistering tone alone should have defeated Spock, but he could see everything right now as though from the far side of a thick clear wall and recognized how very little meaning it held.

"No, Father, I am not."

Sarek seemed to reassess him. He appeared wary for an instant, which Spock did not understand. Spock wanted to order Sten to change course for Vulcan, but that would push his father too far.

"Optimally. Normally," Spock said. "You should have been able to help James, but you could not. Is it not logical to assure you are not placed in such a position again?"

Sarek stepped up to Spock. "You are in no position to lecture me about logic."

Spock studied him, taking more then sufficient time to comprehend the unstated. It had nothing to do with logic and everything to do with pride. Saying that would be a grave mistake.

Spock's silence seemed to bring out more force from his father. Sarek drew himself up taller. "You will report personally to Starfleet Security as soon as possible. They will be returning to earth in escort of the Potemkin. We will not have any additional political difficulties developing."

Sten continued to wait, hands at the edge of the controls. Spock found the servant's tentative disobedience amusing and tried to hide it, but he could feel it expressing through his eyes. Sarek's immovable posture retreated marginally as he observed Spock's expression.

"We can continue in this vein, if you wish, Father," Spock said. "But do realize that at the moment I am incapable of caring about anything that does not directly concern life and death. I stand at the seam between the two, intent upon keeping you from crossing over. There are no arguments on your part, no withering assessments of my thought processes, no hyperbolic accusations conflating a point of view with a grab for power, that will change my current perspective. It is meaningless."

The wariness came on stronger. But Spock's inability to care included his inability to care more than peripherally that his father could be frightened of him.

"Sten," Sarek said without taking his eyes from Spock. "Plot a course for Vulcan."

* * *

The ship was too big. For several foreshortened breaths Kirk believed he was falling, being sucked down the wide, gently arcing corridor of the Potemkin's primary hull. He turned one way, then the other. He should know sickbay's location from his previous visit: Two decks up and a third of the way around the ring clockwise. He found a ladder and climbed, wished he had farther to climb, hours even. The movement made him feel purposeful.

At deck five, he swung out into the corridor and encountered a security team approaching, surrounding a familiar figure in ruffled yellow.

"Graham," Kirk said in genuine pleasure. "You're all right."

"Holy shit." She stopped before him and the detail escorting her stopped as well. "James. Kirk."

A tall figure stepped through the crowd with an authoritarian air. "What is this?"

Commander's stripes. "You must be First Officer Jumpero," Kirk said. "What the hell did you think you were doing attacking the Ranger?"

Jumpero's longish bowl cut fluttered as he shook his head. "The Ranger attacked us."

Kirk stepped up directly into Jumpero's tall, narrow chest. "The Potemkin's strut shield being down was never going to result in a significant loss of life. Your response was disproportionate to the threat." He indicated Graham. "Commander Graham here was the only one at risk."

"When we're attacked, we respond with everything we have."

A security ensign stepped close, put up an arm between them. Kirk stepped back. "That explains your entire broken mission, doesn't it?"

Another group of security came along the corridor behind the first, walking with purpose.

Jumpero looked Kirk up and down. His face grew pinched. "Is that blood?"

Kirk lowered his gaze. His uniform was smeared. His cuffs were rimmed in darkened green. He'd forgotten. Kirk heard his name from a long way away. He was being peeled open again. Frantic, he clawed his way out of it, focussing on what could be a new threat approaching.

"Captain Garrovick," Kirk said in automatic recognition, as if from a trance.

Garrovick's eyes were popping out of his wan face. He too looked Kirk's uniform up and down, began to shudder and breath rapidly.

Kirk held up his hands, which were almost clean, but the undersides of his cuffs were even more stained than the tops. "He's dead, sir."

Garrovick's eyes widened more. He swayed once, and crumpled to the deck.

"The hell," Jumpero said, stepping back.

Security moved. Someone ran ahead for a gurney. Kirk dropped his arms and turned to Graham in search of a friendly face. She appeared just as alarmed as the others.

"You need sickbay." She turned to her escort, pulled out and wielded the impatient executive officer, which made her escort stand straighter in one movement. "We were going there sometime today, right?" She hooked an arm through Kirk's. "Come on."

"Don't act like you are in charge," Jumpero said. "You are still on your way to the brig, Graham."

"You are too, Commander. Eventually. I guarantee it."

She curled her shoulders as they walked, looking like a stalking lioness. Across from sickbay she stopped and triggered a conference room door, pushed Kirk inside. "In here." She turned to the security detail, addressing one man in particular. "I'll just be a minute. Really, Ensign Darcy, look around, there is nowhere to go." The door swished closed.

"James, what's going on?"

Kirk stood mute. In rapid series he was caught in Sybok's grip, caught in Spock's neck pinch, paralyzed and trapped in the corner of the cabin on Spock's family ship.

"You are an epic mess," she said. "You look like you murdered someone, honestly. A Vulcan."

"You sound sarcastic." He felt better for managing to make a quip. He held up his hands, turned them over and back. "I did."

She stared at him, mind working. "Okay. Who?"

"I'm sure it's classified."

"Wonderful."

"But he was killing Spock."

"Justified defense then."

"I would say."

"You need help, James. But first, you need to wash up. Do you recognize that you need to wash up?"

Kirk tried to quell the shaking this question caused. "I do if I think about it."

"Around the corner is a full shower and facilities. Two doors down on the left. Can you handle that? I have to follow my detail. Come to sickbay after. I'll keep an eye on you as long as I can." She looked him over. He feared terribly what he must look like. And he had no control over it. "Okay?" she demanded.

"Yes, sir," Kirk said.

"Good man," she said, uncertain despite the words.

"I'm very glad you're all right," Kirk added before she could trigger the door.

"I got pushed by the air displacement of the foam into a rod that was carrying liquid salt, but that's a lot better than it could have been, trapped in the foam for example." She showed him her leg where her uniform pants were seared open in a neat long oval. The window gave a glimpse of blistered flesh. "Don't worry about me. Take care of yourself."

"I have to see to my crew," Kirk said.

She nodded with an official air. "Or take care of them. After. You clean up."

In the oppressive silence of the washroom, Kirk stripped off his uniform shirt, pressed it into the sink, turned on the sonic assist. The water ran pale green, then clear. He twisted the material as hard as he could, unraveled and shook it out with a snap. The weave barely held water and would dry quickly. He slipped it on. It felt clammy, like dipping himself into wet leaves. But it was clean.

The Ranger's crew was so pleased to see him that Kirk forgot his own terrors, slipped into the mold of the man they needed him to be. After he'd visited all the beds, the nurse led him into isolation room two, where Riley lay in a full support suit. Kirk drew up beside him as if pulled by a long string.

"How'd he end up decompressed?" Kirk asked.

The nurse was fiddling with the equipment, making adjustments until the readings were dead center. "He was beamed out of the lower decks with the other injured. That's all I know."

"Trying to be a hero. He must have moved quickly."

"He barely made it. Cellular damage was almost too much to restore basic function."

Kirk shook his head, sat on the stool beside the bed, pressed his hands between his knees. The sense of waste dragged him down as if the gravity had tripled. Riley showed no sign of consciousness on his face, and the monitors showed suppressed function on all readings.

The nurse turned the monitor noises off. "It will be more than a day before he's aware."

Kirk insisted on seeing the bodies, which were in cryotubes. Not so many as to have been arranged in the hangar, just stacked two to a cart in isolation room one. Kirk looked through each viewport, found Ensign Jones second to last. The frozen stillness of her angular jaw, the purplish white hue of her stiff encasing skin hit him in the gut. He leaned against the wall and bowed his head. The nurse left without speaking, left him to the company of the humming chambers.

Kirk came to awareness on the floor. He was resting his head on his knees. There were no sounds beyond the super chillers running under each of the tubes. He wondered what had roused him. He wondered what time it was. You never knew who would make it. Graham should have been dead, but was nearly unharmed. His crew shouldn't have been there at all. But it was a damn good thing they had been. They'd done what they had to do. He'd done what he had to do. Small consolation.

He straightened his back, pressed his head to the wall behind him. At that moment, sitting there with the dead, he didn't fear anything. He needed to hold onto that feeling. Maybe it was emptiness, but he had to hold onto it. It was his only hope.

He pushed to his feet. Somewhere on this ship was his uninjured crew, along with those treated for minor injuries and released. They needed care as well.

Kirk found the ambulatory members of his crew in a recreation room on the same deck. They were watching the Potemkin's bridge feed with great attention. Admiral Coyran was directing repairs on the ship, handling delicate communication with Starfleet Command.

Distrust paralyzed Kirk as he watched. Even when Coyran told Nav to plot a course to earth and have it ready, Kirk couldn't pull free of his renewed terror.

"Commander." Gall noticed him.

Kirk forced his lips to twitch in what he hoped was a faint smile.

"Sir?"

Kirk held up a hand to indicate he didn't want to talk. The other crew slouched back into poor posture, turned back to the display screen one at a time.

"It seemed dubious, sir," Fairfeather said after a long time.

"It's hard to know when to question what you've been told." Kirk could barely talk, but it sounded consoling rather than weak.

"We let you down, sir." Gall bit her lips. "You always tried to point out it wasn't all of Vulcan. So it didn't make any sense." She glanced at the others, shrunk down again and turned to the screen.

Kirk found his mental footing. "I'm not here to spur any expressions of regret. I'm here to try and support all of you. I might not be doing a very good job of that."

Toyvan said, "What do you think of the admiral, sir?"

"I give it about 33 to one that he's reliable. One gets a little jumpy after events like this. Harder to figure out who to trust."

There were wan smiles.

Toyvan said, "He's cleaning house. Been at it since he arrived, tossing people in the brig. Came in on a Starfleet Security Cruiser."

Kirk's heart felt heavier yet. "I should probably stay off his radar."

This generated more smiles.

"By the way, Mr. Toyvan. Good shooting."

"I should probably avoid the admiral as well." Toyvan swallowed hard. "It was the hardest shot I've ever taken. Do you happen to know- Whether-" He swallowed again.

Strange, Kirk thought, they had been on the way to attack a planet, but a single commander whose voice they could hear had a life with more meaning.

"Graham is fine. If that's what you're asking."

"She is, sir?"

"She was going from sickbay for a burn straight to the brig with a sizable security detail, but yes, she's fine."

Toyvan's shoulders shifted backward. "I'm really relieved to hear that, sir." He looked away, turned back. "Does that mean they'll throw me in the brig too, when they sort things out?"

"You aren't the former first officer of this ship and dangerous otherwise, like she is. Some will still follow her orders."

"Oh. True."

"Maybe you should get yourself sent to the brig," Kirk said. "The company down there might be worth it."

"I thought she was with you, sir."

"She still orders me around too much."

This generated actual laughter and Kirk felt almost himself. He was safe here, even from himself, reflecting their needs like a mirror.

* * *

A/N: One more chapter after this one, then I'm going to close this one and open the third story and make this a trilogy. Wasn't originally structured that way, but I'm going to do it anyway.


	27. Duty to Whom?

Chapter 27 - Duty to Whom?

"There are a great many critical communications to be attended to," Sarek said as he entered his personal office at the estate. "Especially before I could responsibly consider being incapable of conducting any business for the duration I would be under Sqorr's care." He powered on the monitor. "Communications with Starfleet will have to take precedence, since we have behaved less than optimally following this most recent incident."

Spock followed his father and stopped across the desk from him. Sten remained in the doorway, head down, standing in support but not provoking, Spock assumed. The servant had been ordered to deal with Sybok's body but had not gone to do that. Sarek sat down heavily. Spock observed that this brought on a flinch of pain, a nearly undetectable shudder through the left side of Sarek's body.

"Should Sten fetch Mother?" Spock said. "Although, commercial transport might be faster than the family ship given the delay Sten may encounter preparing for departure."

Sarek looked up from his monitor. He considered Spock with an impatient look familiar from their once daily chess matches. "The family ship is more comfortable. And there is no rush." Sarek turned back to the monitor. "When your mother arrives we can make necessary arrangements for me. In the meantime, you will see a Healer, since your presence is considerably less critical than mine." Sarek nodded at Sten as if to command him, but Sten glanced between them and didn't move.

"It is nearly the end of the day," Spock said. "Sqorr would undoubtedly prefer to schedule things for you ahead of time."

"It will likely take Sten a day to go to earth, resupply and come back," Sarek said, with increasing annoyance.

"I'll go right away." Sten hobbled away.

Sarek narrowed his gaze in the direction of the door. The sound of Sten's departure echoed through the stone halls. There were no other servants about, since their arrival had been unannounced.

"Sqorr's office, Father? Perhaps you should contact them."

Sarek sat tensely. "You are badly out of line, Spock."

Spock floated. He could feel the all of living Vulcan if he turned his attention that way like an antenna. The energy of all those lives pulsed like stars in clusters, in outposts. He said, "Will this disapproval of yours determine life or death for me?"

Sarek's mouth tightened. "Of course not."

"Then I cannot care."

Sarek assessed him as if seeing him anew and disapproving in a whole new way. Then he appeared uneasy. But after a time, he reached back for the communications unit, keyed in the healer-physic's ID.

"This is Sarek of Shikahr, I request a session with Sqorr this week."

The female voice at the other end sounded almost human in its boredom. "Is the condition urgent?"

Sarek breathed in to formulate a pride-saving reply, and Spock spoke commandingly so the mic would pick it up, "It's an emergency."

Sarek's shoulders shifted backwards abruptly in anger. His hand dropped from the table with the comm device. He glared at Spock, who gazed factually back at him.

Sounds came from the main hall. There were no servants to answer the door, but it was not locked.

Sarek flinched. The anger was undoubtedly making his heart work more.

Spock said, "I apologize for straining you additionally. You left me no option."

The room filled with medical personnel, followed by Sqorr, who parted them, headed straight for Sarek. Sqorr was a Vulcan the same age as Sarek, with unusually short hair and large hands.

"Finally critical?" the healer-physic asked.

"My son requires an adept mind Healer," Sarek said. "Arrange one."

Sqorr turned with curiosity to Spock.

Sarek said, "He is badly injured from a psychic attack."

"I am not in crisis," Spock said from where he floated.

Sqorr remained at Sarek's side, but looked Spock up and down. "Not my topic area of expertise, but he seems functional to me."

Sarek tried to turn his anger on Sqorr, but bent over his right side in pain instead.

Spock gently said, "I can be attended to by a Healer when you have recovered, Father."

Sarek closed his eyes for several seconds. His voice was forced out. "I will hold you to that. In which case there should be no more delay."

The medical team took this as a cue to move in. Despite his disabusing them of the need for it, they put Sarek on a hover chair and steered him out.

Sqorr let the techs pass and came around to Spock. The sounds moved down the hall and out before he spoke. "You almost waited too long."

"I foolishly didn't realize."

Sqorr studied Spock's eyes, became thoughtful. "You do seem out of sorts."

"I am indeed out of sorts. But I will see to my father until my mother returns."

"I have observed your mother previously under similar conditions. She will need support as well."

"Then I will see to her until my father recovers enough to see to her in turn."

"Very well. I can't order you to treatment any more than I could order your father. He set a poor example for you. Come along. I will likely need you to continue navigating his pride for him."

* * *

Repairs on the Potemkin were finally sufficient to go to warp, and Coyran ordered auxiliary control to take them to warp two. The ship shifted, vibrated, then hummed soothingly.

Fairfeather turned to Kirk but kept her head down. "I may be crass asking, sir, given there are seven dead and several seriously injured. But how much trouble are we in?"

"There will be a hearing. There will be several hearings. There will be months of hearings. The crew that weren't recalled in time are going to read the rest of you the riot act. Things are always clearer from the outside, especially after the fact, and they won't recognize what you went through from the inside. Please prepare yourselves for that." Kirk rubbed his face with both hands, tried to think through his own stress. He dropped his hands. No one seemed to think poorly of his behavior. "I don't see any of you here as being culpable. In the end, you saved the day and suffered for it. That will count for something. Lieutenant Riley may be in some trouble."

Gall said, "We should have just disobeyed him. We could have saved him too."

"You are asking a lot of your past self, Ensign. And I repeat, things worked out for the best because of the actions you did take." Kirk closed his eyes against the visions of weapons raining down upon Vulcan and stood up to pace away. "It would have been horrible." He rubbed his hair back, had to escape. "I should leave you. I should, frankly, check in with the admiral. Although, I might just go visit Commander Graham instead."

"Anything we can do, sir?" Gall had stood up, had followed him, which startled him when he turned.

Kirk put up a hand to ward her off and she stepped back. "No. Just stick together. Keep your fellows company in sickbay down the hall." He had to get away, right now.

"They kicked us out."

"One or two at a time. They will let you in." He stepped backward through the door. It closed between them and he went limp. The corridor was empty. He leaned on the bulkhead. His weakness didn't matter. They weren't a crew anymore since they lacked a ship. Small consolation, but he'd take it.

Without much thought he returned to isolation room two. The monitors beating out the pulse of a singled life soothed him. It wasn't long before the door slid open.

"Graham," Kirk said when he finally looked up to see who was there.

Her mouth was set thin, eyes hard.

Kirk said, "They let you out of the brig?"

"Admiral Coyran did. He needed help and decided I was the best one for the job. He found out you were on the ship and nearly had a heart attack." She looked him over again. "He had just given me a list of emergency tasks to do, then told me to drop them all and find you."

Kirk stood up, breathed in and out against his racing heart. Coyran likely knew everything. Starfleet Security would have filled him in.

Graham was still deadly. "He wants you in the brig. I didn't tell him the state you were in when you came on board."

"I expect he knows."

This made her pause. "Really?"

Kirk nodded.

"I told him you needed medical attention. That you weren't well. That the brig wasn't a good idea."

Kirk smiled, then he shivered for no good reason. "It doesn't really matter." He glanced over at Riley's lax face, frowned as his eyes grew hot. "I should have beaten some sense into him," he said with great remorse. "I knew I needed to. I just didn't have the heart to."

"I convinced Coyran that you should just be sedated until we get to earth."

"You what?" Kirk felt his shoulders drawing back. "I'd rather go to the brig." He felt energy flowing into him. "Really, Sal?"

"I thought I was doing you a favor. You aren't well, James."

"I know I'm not well." He gestured at his head with one claw shaped hand. "I was mind-raped-" Kirk couldn't draw enough air, but still tried to speak. "I know I'm not well." He lost his anger like dropping something sheer and slippery. "Fine. Unconscious is fine. Someone going to look after my crew?"

She looked immensely regretful. "Sorry, James. Yes. I will."

"Go talk to Toyvan, my gunner. He thought he'd killed you."

The door slid open and the CMO came in, flanked by two nurses. Kirk held up his hands. "It's okay. Where do you want me?"

"Spare bed here in isolation. Saves the questions from your injured crew about why we're strapping you down and knocking you out."

"Great bedside manner," Graham said.

"I'm here to heal. Admiral wants dirty work done, he should do it himself."

Kirk smiled. "The admiral is probably justified."

Kirk laid back on the second bed in the room and felt latent exhaustion sucking him down hard to the mattress. He expected the hypo to hit immediately and lifted his head when it didn't.

Graham came up close to the bed, her face had grown familiar again. "Sorry for this, James. Thanks for cooperating. If it were me, I'd put up a fight."

Kirk stared at the ceiling. "It's my duty to cooperate. Under the circumstances."

"They'll take care of you on earth." She sounded like she believed that.

Kirk thought of Pritchard's state after his treatments and fear raced through his veins, chilling and burning. The hypo hissed as it jostled his arm, then there was nothing.

* * *

END of Book 2, Sequel is Inner War

* * *

A/N:

Had to pick some kind of break point to cut what was originally going to be one story into two. Picking this spot solidifies Spock's arc, rather than Kirk's, who is named in the title. So it goes. Books 2 and 3 of this trilogy should probably be labeled Kirk's War Part 1 and Part 2 since Kirk still has some fighting (of a sort) to do. Awkward, so it got a new name, implying a larger arc of battles moving inward. What's at stake has significantly changed for both Kirk and Spock right at this moment. Probably the best justification for opening a new story on that count. Post-post-modernism isn't much for plot structure anyway. Plots are so old school... right?

Random thoughts: I do rather like that Kirk and Spock's positions have flipped 180 from the beginning to the end of the story. Kirk was at the height of his power when we opened and Spock at the lowest, and now they are in opposite positions, at least with regard to the person or organization that means the most to each of them.

The scene with Spock and Sybok was my favorite of this story from a writing perspective. The most legit unreliable narrator I've ever concocted. Spock cannot afford to consciously acknowledge that he's betraying Sybok, because Sybok will immediately detect it, so as the close 3rd person narrator, Spock can't inform the reader, either. He may even have made himself forget that was what he was doing in order to make the encounter safer. Seriously legit messing with the reader going on there. Can't get much better than that.

And Kirk here at the end. I have a thing for damaged main characters I think. They see things in new and insightful ways. You don't know who you are until you have to consciously piece yourself back together from base parts.


End file.
